JOHNIUTHERIONG 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SEFFOfl 


SIFFT 

A  LITTLE  COMEDY  OF 
COUNTRY  MANNERS 

BY 
JOHN  LUTHER  LONG 

AUTHOR  OF 
MADAME  BUTTERFLY 
NAUGHTY  NAN,  ETC. 

ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
C.D.WILLIAMS 


NEW  YORK 

A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1905 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


NOVEMBER 


fs 


TO  ALL  WHO  HAVE  COURTED— 

FOR  REMEMBRANCE; 
TO  ALL  WHO  WILL  COURT— 

AN  EXAMPLE; 
TO  ALL  WHO  HAVE  NEVER  COURTED— 

IN  PITY; 

TO  ALL  WHO  WILL  NEVER  COURT— 
WITH  TEARS 


862979 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAQH 

I    How  A  SIDEWISE  DOG  TROTS  .        .        1 

II    WHAT  HAVE  FEELINGS  GOT  TO  Do 

WITH  Cow  PASTURE  ?  .        .        .22 

III  BUT  SALLY  WAS  THE  ANGEL     .        .        .32 

IV  SUPPOSE  SHE  HAD  GREASED  HER  HAIR  ?     35 
V    SEFFY'S  SITTING  UP— AND  DOWN  AGAIN       49 

VI    THE  CLOTHES-PIN  CURE  ...      54 

VII    THE  POISON  SPRING  IN  TKB,  COTTON 

WOODS 68 

VIII    THE  WHITE  SIGNAL  WHICH  MIGHT 

AS  WELL  HAVE  BEEN  BLACK          .        .      77 

IX  IT  WAS  SEFFY  WHO  WAS  SACKED    .        .  84 

X  THE  HUGE  FIST  OF  THE  FARMER     .        .  91 

XI  WHEN  SPRING  CAME         ....  102 

XII  THE  Kiss  LIKE  SEFFY'S    .        .        .        .105 

XIII  ONE  BLOW  FOR  THAT  TO  SEFFY        .        .  109 

XIV  FOR  SEFFY'S  SAKE 115 

XV  SHALL  SEFFY  ENTER  AT  THIS  CUB  ?         .  129 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SALLY  Frontispiece 

"YEBK  HE  GOES  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER! 

WHAT'S  BID  ?    GOING— GOING— "  U 


'I  SHALL  NEVER  Kiss  No  ONE  BUT  You, 

No  MORE"  46 


IF  SHE  HAD  OBEYED  ONLY  HER  HEART  SHE 
WOULD  HAVE  FLUNG  HER  ARMS  AROUND 
HIM  70 


"THANK  You,  MR.  BAUMGARTNER,  I'M  SUITED"  88 
"I'M  SORRY  I'M  You'  DADDJ,  I  AM,  BEGOSHENS!"  98 
"I'M  HER  GARDEEN!"  HE  CRIED  AS  HE  STRUCK  112 


SHE  SLIPPED  TO  THE  FLOOR  AND  KNELT  AT  His 

FEET  136 


SEFFY 

i 

HOW   A   SIDEWISE  DOG   TROTS 

The  place  was  the  porch  of  the  store,  the 
time  was  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  of 
a  summer  day,  the  people  were  the  amiable 
loafers  —  and  Old  Baumgartner.  The  per- 
son he  was  discoursing  about  was  his  son 
Sephenijah.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  name 
was  not  the  ripe  fruit  of  his  father's  fancy  — 
with,  perhaps,  the  Scriptural  suggestion 
which  is  likely  to  be  present  in  the  affairs  of 
a  Pennsylvania-German  —  whether  a  com- 
municant or  not  —  even  if  he  live  in  Mary- 
land. 

"  Yas  —  always  last ;  especial  at  fu- 
nerals and  weddings.  Except  his  own  —  he's 
sure  to  be  on  time  at  his  own  funeral.  Right 
out  in  front!  Hah?  But  sometimes  he 


SEFEOfl 

misses  his  wedding.  Why,  I  knowed  a  feller 
—  yous  all  knowed  him,  begoshens!  —  that 
didn't  git  there  tell  another  feller*d  married 
her — 'bout  more'n  a  year  afterward. 
Wasn't  it  more'n  a  year,  boys?  Yas  —  Bill 
Eisenkrout.  Or,  now,  was  it  his  brother  — 
Baltzer  Iron-Cabbage?  Seems  to  me  now  like 
it  was  Baltz.  Somesing  wiss  a  B  at  the  front 
end,  anyhow." 

Henry  Wasserman  diffidently  intimated 
that  there  was  a  curious  but  satisfactory  ele- 
ment of  safety  in  being  last  —  a  "  f ast- 
nacht "  in  their  language,  in  fact  Those  in 
front  were  the  ones  usually  hurt  in  railroad 
accidents,  Alexander  Althoff  remembered. 

"  Safe?  "  cried  the  speaker.  «  Of  course ! 
But  for  why  —  say,  for  why?"  Old  Baum- 
gartner  challenged  defiantly. 

No  one  answered  and  he  let  several  impres- 
sive minutes  intervene. 

"  You  don't  know !  Hang  you,  none  of 
yous  knows!  Well  —  because  he  ain't  there 
when  anysing  occurs  —  always  a  little  late !  " 


They  agreed  with  him  by  a  series  of  sage 
nods. 

"  But,  fellers,  the  worst  is  about  courting. 
It's  no  way  to  be  always  late.  Everybody 
else  gits  there  first,  and  it's  nossing  for  the 
f  astnacht  but  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnash- 
ing of  the  teeth.  And  mebby  the  other  fel- 
ler gits  considerable  happiness  —  and  a  good 
farm." 

There  was  complaint  in  the  old  man's  voice, 
and  they  knew  that  he  meant  his  own  son 
Seffy.  To  add  to  their  embarrassment,  this 
same  son  was  now  appearing  over  the  Lustich 
Hill  —  an  opportune  moment  for  a  pleasing 
digression.  For  you  must  be  told  early  con- 
cerning Old  Baumgartner's  longing  for  cer- 
tain lands,  tenements  and  hereditaments  — 
using  his  own  phrase  —  which  were  not  his 
own,  but  which  adjoined  his.  It  had  passed 
into  a  proverb  of  the  vicinage ;  indeed,  though 
the  property  in  question  belonged  to  one 
Sarah  Pressel,  it  was  known  colloquially  as 
"  Baumgartner's  Yearn." 


SEFEpfl 

And  the  reason  of  it  was  this:  Between  his 
own  farm  and  the  public  road,  (and  the  rail- 
road station  when  it  came),  lay  the  fairest 
meadow-land  farmer's  eye  had  ever  rested 
upon.  (I  am  speaking  again  for  the  father 
of  Seffy  and  with  his  hyperbole.)  Save  in 
one  particular,  it  was  like  an  enemy's  beauti- 
ful territory  lying  between  one's  less  beauti- 
ful own  and  the  open  sea  —  keeping  one  a 
poor  inlander  who  is  mad  for  the  seas  —  whose 
crops  must  either  pass  across  the  land  of  his 
adversary  and  pay  tithes  to  him,  or  go  by 
long  distances  around  him  at  the  cost  of 
greater  tithes  to  the  soulless  owners  of  the 
turnpikes  —  who  aggravatingly  fix  a  gate 
each  way  to  make  their  tithes  more  sure.  So, 
I  say,  it  was  like  having  the  territory  of  his 
enemy  lying  between  him  and  deep  water  — 
save,  as  I  have  also  said,  in  one  particular,  to 
wit:  that  the  owner  —  the  Sarah  Pressel  I 
have  mentioned  —  was  not  Old  Baumgartner's 
enemy. 

In    fact,    they    were    tremendous    friends. 


And  it  was  by  this  friendship  —  and  one 
other  thing  which  I  mean  to  mention  later  — 
that  Old  Baumgartner  hoped,  before  he  died, 
to  attain  the  wish  of  his  life,  and  see,  not  only 
the  Elysian  pasture-field,  but  the  whole  of  the 
adjoining  farm,  with  the  line  fences  down,  a 
part  of  his.  The  other  thing  I  promised  to 
mention  as  an  aid  to  this  ambition  —  was 
Seffy.  And,  since  the  said  Sarah  was  of 
nearly  the  same  age  as  Seffy,  perhaps  I  need 
not  explain  further,  except  to  say  that  the 
only  obstruction  the  old  man  could  see  now 
to  acquiring  title  by  marriage  was  —  Seffy 
himself.  He  was,  and  always  had  been,  afraid 
of  girls  —  especially  such  aggressive,  flirta- 
tious, pretty  and  tempestuous  girls  as  this 
Sarah. 

These  things,  however,  were  hereditary  with 
the  girl.  It  was  historical,  in  fact,  that,  dur- 
ing the  life  of  Sarah's  good-looking  father, 
so  importunate  had  been  Old  Baumgartner 
for  the  purchase  of  at  least  the  meadow  — 
he  could  not  have  ventured  more  at  that  time 


—  and  so  obstinate  had  been  the  father  of  the 
present  owner — (he  had  red  hair  precisely 
as  his  daughter  had)  — that  they  had  come 
to  blows  about  it  to  the  discomfiture  of  Old 
Baumgartner;  and,  afterward,  they  did  not 
speak.  Yet,  when  the  loafers  at  the  store 
laughed,  Baumgartner  swore  that  he  would, 
nevertheless,  have  that  pasture  before  he  died. 
But,  then,  as  if  fate,  too,  were  against  him, 
the  railroad  was  built,  and  its  station  was 
placed  so  that  the  Pressel  farm  lay  directly 
between  it  and  him,  and  of  course  the  "  life  " 
went  more  and  more  in  the  direction  of  the 
station  —  left  him  more  and  more  "  out  of 
it " —  and  made  him  poorer  and  poorer,  and 
Pressel  richer  and  richer.  And,  when  the 
store  laughed  at  that,  Baumgartner  swore 
that  he  would  possess  half  of  the  farm  before 
he  died;  and  as  Pressel  and  his  wife  died,  and 
Seffy  grew  up,  and  as  he  noticed  the  fond- 
ness of  the  little  red-headed  girl  for  his  little 
tow-headed  boy,  he  added  to  his  adjuration 
that  he  would  be  harrowing  that  whole  farm 

6 


SEFK53 

before  he  died, —  without  paying  a  cent  for 
it! 

But  both  Seffy  and  Sally  had  grown  to  a 
marriageable  age  without  anything  happen- 
ing. Seffy  had  become  inordinately  shy, 
while  the  coquettish  Sally  had  accepted  the 
attentions  of  Sam  Pritz,  the  clerk  at  the  store, 
as  an  antagonist  more  worthy  of  her,  and 
in  a  fashion  which  sometimes  made  the  father 
of  Seffy  swear  and  lose  his  temper  —  with 
Seffy.  Though,  of  course,  in  the  final  dispo- 
sition of  the  matter,  he  was  sure  that  no  girl 
so  nice  as  Sally  would  marry  such  a  person 
as  Sam  Pritz,  with  no  extremely  visible  means 
of  support  —  a  salary  of  four  dollars  a 
week,  and  an  odious  reputation  for  liquor. 
And  it  was  for  these  things,  all  of  which  were 
known  (for  Baumgartner  had  not  a  single 
secret)  that  the  company  at  the  store  detected 
the  personal  equation  in  Old  Baumgartner's 
communications. 

Seffy  had  almost  arrived  by  this  time,  and 
Sally  was  in  the  store!  With  Sam!  The  situ- 


ation  was  highly  dramatic.  But  the  old  man 
consummately  ignored  this  complication  and 
directed  attention  to  his  son.  For  him,  the 
molasses-tapper  did  not  exist.  The  fact  is 
he  was  overjoyed.  Seffy,  for  once  in  his  life, 
would  be  on  time !  He  would  do  the  rest. 

"  Now,  boys,  chust  look  at  'em !  Dogged 
if  they  ain't  bose  like  one  another !  How's  the 
proferb?  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  wiss  one 
another?  I  dunno.  Anyhow,  Sef  flocks 
wiss  Betz  constant.  And  they  understand  one 
another  good.  Trotting  like  a  sidewise  dog 
of  a  hot  summer's  day !  "  And  he  showed  the 
company,  up  and  down  the  store-porch,  just 
how  a  sidewise  dog  would  be  likely  to  trot  on 
a  hot  summer  day  —  and  then  laughed  joy- 
ously. 

If  there  had  been  an  artist  eye  to  see  they 
would  have  been  well  worth  its  while  —  Seffy 
and  the  mare  so  affectionately  disparaged. 
And,  after  all,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  speaker 
himself  had  not  an  artist's  eye.  For  a  spring 
pasture,  or  a  fallow  upland,  or  a  drove  of 

8 


goodly  cows  deep  in  his  clover,  I  know  he 
had.  (Perhaps  you,  too,  have?)  And  this 
was  his  best  mare  and  his  only  son. 

The  big  bay,  clad  in  broad-banded  har- 
ness, soft  with  oil  and  glittering  with  brasses, 
was  shambling  indolently  down  the  hill,  re- 
sisting her  own  momentum  by  the  diagonal 
motion  the  old  man  had  likened  to  a  dog's 
sidewise  trot.  The  looped  trace-chains  were 
jingling  a  merry  dithyramb,  her  head  was 
nodding,  her  tail  swaying,  and  Seffy, 
propped  by  his  elbow  on  her  broad  back,  one 
leg  swung  between  the  hames,  the  other  keep- 
ing time  on  her  ribs,  was  singing: 

"  *  I  want  to  be  an  angel 
And  with  the  angels  stand, 

A  crown  upon  my  forehead 
A  harp  within  my  hand  — '  " 

His  adoring  father  chuckled.  "  I  wonder 
what  for  kind  of  anchel  he'd  make,  anyhow? 
And  Betz  —  they'll  have  to  go  together. 
Say,  I  wonder  if  it  is  horse-anchels  ?  " 

9 


No  one  knew ;  no  one  offered  a  suggestion. 

"  Well,  it  ought  to  be.  Say  —  he  ken  per- 
form circus  wiss  ol'  Betz !  " 

They  expressed  their  polite  surprise  at  this 
for  perhaps  the  hundredth  time. 

"  Yas  —  they  have  a  kind  of  circus-ring  in 
the  barnyard.  He  stands  on  one  foot  then 
on  another,  and  on  his  hands  wiss  his  feet 
kicking,  and  then  he  says  words  —  like  hokey- 
pokey  —  and  Betz  she  kicks  up  behind  and 
throws  him  off  in  the  dung  and  we  all  laugh 
—  happy  ef er  after  —  Betz  most  of  all ! " 

After  the  applause  he  said: 

"I  guess  I'd  better  wake  >em  up!  What 
you  sink?  " 

They  one  and  all  thought  he  had.  They 
knew  he  would  do  it,  no  matter  what  they 
thought.  His  method,  as  usual,  was  his  own. 
He  stepped  to  the  adjoining  field,  and,  select- 
ing a  clod  with  the  steely  polish  of  the  plow- 
share upon  it,  threw  it  at  the  mare.  It  struck 
her  on  the  flank.  She  gathered  her  feet  un- 
der her  in  sudden  alarm,  then  slowly  relaxed, 

10 


looked  slyly  for  the  old  man,  found  him,  and 
understanding,  suddenly  wheeled  and  ambled 
off  home,  leaving  Seffy  prone  on  the  ground 
as  her  part  of  the  joke. 

The  old  man  brought  Seffy  in  triumph  to 
the  store-porch. 

"  Chust  stopped  you  afore  you  got  to  be 
a  anchel ! "  he  was  saying.  "  We  couldn't 
bear  to  sink  about  you  being  a  anchel  —  an* 
wiss  the  anchels  stand  —  a  harp  upon  your 
forehead,  a  crown  within  your  hand,  I  expect 
—  when  it's  corn-planting  time." 

Seffy  grinned  cheerfully,  brushed  off  the 
dust  and  contemplated  his  father's  watch  — 
held  accusingly  against  him.  Old  Baumgart- 
ner  went  on  gaily. 

"  About  an  inch  and  a  half  apast  ten ! 
Seffy,  I'm  glad  you  ain't  breaking  your  repu- 
tation for  being  fastnachich.  Chust  about  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  too  late  for  the  prize 
wiss  flour  on  its  hair  and  arms  and  its 
frock  pinned  up  to  show  its  new  petticoat! 
Uhu !  If  I  had  such  a  nice  petticoat  —  "  he 

11 


imitated  the  lady  in  question,  to  the  tremen- 
dous delight  of  the  gentle  loafers. 

Seffy  stared  a  little  and  rubbed  some  dust 
out  of  his  eyes.  He  was  pleasant  but  dull. 

"  Yassir,  Sef ,  if  you'd  a-got  yere  at  a  inch 
and  a  quarter  apast!  Now  Sam's  got  her. 
Down  in  the  cellar  a-licking  molasses  to- 
gether !  Doggone  if  Sam  don't  git  eferysing 
—  except  his  due  bills.  He  don't  want  to  be 
no  anchel  tell  he  dies.  He's  got  fun  enough 
yere  —  but  Seffy  —  you're  like  the  flow  of 
molasses  in  January  —  at  courting." 

This  oblique  suasion  made  no  impression  on 
Seffy.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  understood  it  at 
all.  The  loafers  began  to  smile.  One 
laughed.  The  old  man  checked  him  with  a 
threat  of  personal  harm. 

"Hold  on  there,  Jefferson  Dafis  Busby," 
he  chid.  "  I  don't  allow  no  one  to  laugh  at 
my  Seffy  —  except  chust  me  —  account  I'm 
his  daddy.  It's  a  fight-word  the  next  time 
you  do  it." 

Mr.  Busby  straightened  his  countenance. 

IS 


"  He  don't  seem  to  notice  —  nor  keer  — 
'bout  gals  — do  he?" 

No  one  spoke. 

"  No,  durn  him,  he  ain't  no  good.  Say  — 
what'll  you  give  for  him,  hah?  Yere  he  goes 
to  the  highest  bidder  —  for  richer,  for 
poorer,  for  better,  for  worser,  up  and  down, 
in  and  out,  swing  your  partners  —  what's 
bid?  He  ken  plow  as  crooked  as  a  mule's 
hind  leg,  sleep  hard  as  a  'possum  in  winter- 
time, eat  like  a  snake,  git  left  efery  time  — 
but  he  ken  ketch  fish.  They  wait  on  him. 
What's  bid?  " 

No  one  would  hazard  a  bid. 

"Yit  a  minute,"  shouted  the  old  fellow, 
pulling  out  his  bull's-eye  watch  again, 
"  what's  bid?  Going  —  going  —  all  done  — 
going  — " 

«A  dollar!" 

The  bid  came  from  behind  him,  and  the 
voice  was  beautiful  to  hear.  A  gleam  came 
into  the  old  man's  eyes  as  he  heard  it.  He  de- 
liberately put  the  watch  back  in  its  pocket, 

13 


put  on  his  spectacles,  and  turned,  as  if  she 
were  a  stranger. 

"Gone!"  he  announced  then.  "Who's 
the  purchaser?  Come  forwards  and  take 
away  you*  property.  What's  the  name, 
please? "  Then  he  pretended  to  recognize 
her.  "Oach!  Sally!  Well,  that's  lucky! 
He  goes  in  good  hands.  He's  sound  and  kind, 
but  needs  the  whip."  He  held  out  his  hand 
for  the  dollar. 

It  was  the  girl  of  whom  he  had  spoken 
accurately  as  a  prize.  Her  sleeves  were 
turned  up  as  far  as  they  would  go,  revealing 
some  soft  lace-trimmed  whiteness,  and 
there  was  flour  on  her  arms.  Some  patches  of 
it  on  her  face  gave  a  petal-like  effect  to  her 
otherwise  aggressive  color.  The  pretty  dress 
was  pinned  far  enough  back  to  reveal  the 
prettier  petticoat  —  plus  a  pair  of  trimly-clad 
ankles. 

Perhaps  these  were  neither  the  garments 
nor  the  airs  in  which  every  farmer-maiden 
did  her  baking.  But  then,  Sally  was  no  ordi- 

14 


nary  fanner-maiden.  She  was  all  this,  it  is 
true,  but  she  was,  besides,  grace  and  color 
and  charm  itself.  And  if  she  chose  to  bake 
in  such  attire  —  or,  even,  if  she  chose  to  pre- 
tend to  do  so,  where  was  the  churl  to  say  her 
nay,  even  though  the  flour  was  part  of  a  de- 
liberate "  make  up  "  ?  Certainly  he  was  not 
at  the  store  that  summer  morning. 

And  Seffy  was  there.  Her  hair  escaped 
redness  by  only  a  little.  But  that  little  was 
just  the  difference  between  ugliness  and 
beauty.  For,  whether  Sally  were  beautiful 
or  not  —  about  which  we  might  contend  a  bit 
—  her  hair  was,  and  perhaps  that  is  the  rea- 
son why  it  was  nearly  always  uncovered  —  or, 
possibly,  again,  because  it  was  so  much  uncov- 
ered was  the  reason  it  was  beautiful.  It 
seemed  to  catch  some  of  the  glory  of  the  sun. 
Her  face  had  a  few  freckles  and  her  mouth 
was  a  trifle  too  large.  But,  in  it  were  splen- 
did teeth. 

In  short,  by  the  magic  of  brilliant  color  and 
natural  grace  she  narrowly  escaped  being  ex- 

15 


BEffOdl 

tremely  handsome  —  in  the  way  of  a  sun- 
burned peach,  or  a  maiden's-blush  apple. 
And  even  if  you  should  think  she  were  not 
handsome,  you  would  admit  that  there  was 
an  indescribable  rustic  charm  about  her.  She 
was  like  the  aroma  of  the  hay-fields,  or  the 
woods,  or  a  field  of  daisies,  or  dandelions. 

The  girl,  laughing,  surrendered  the  money, 
and  the  old  man,  taking  an  arm  of  each, 
marched  them  peremptorily  away. 

"  Come  to  the  house  and  git  his  clothes. 
Eferysing  goes  in  —  stofepipe  hat,  butterfly 
necktie,  diamond  pin,  tooth-brush,  hair-oil, 
razor  and  soap." 

They  had  got  far  enough  around  the  cor- 
ner to  be  out  of  sight  of  the  store,  during  this 
gaiety,  and  the  old  man  now  shoved  Seffy 
and  the  girl  out  in  front  of  him,  linked  their 
arms,  and  retreated  to  the  rear. 

"What  Sephenijah  P.  Baumgartner, 
Senior,  hath  j'ined  together,  let  nobody  put 
athunder,  begoshens!"  he  announced. 

The  proceeding  appeared  to  be  painful  to 

16 


SefFy,  but  not  to  Sally.  She  frankly  ac- 
cepted the  situation  and  promptly  put  into 
action  its  opportunities  for  coquetry.  She 
begged  him,  first,  with  consummate  aplomb, 
to  aid  her  in  adjusting  her  parcels  more  se- 
curely, insisting  upon  carrying  them  herself, 
and  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe  ade- 
quately her  allures.  The  electrical  touches, 
half-caress,  half -defiance ;  the  confidential 
whisperings,  so  that  the  wily  old  man  in  the 
rear  might  not  hear;  the  surges  up  against 
him ;  the  recoveries  —  only  to  surge  again  — 
these  would  require  a  mechanical  contrivance 
which  reports  not  only  speech  but  action  — • 
and  even  this  might  easily  fail,  so  subtle  was 
it  all! 

"Sef— SefFy,  I  thought  it  was  his  old 
watch  he  was  auctioning  off.  I  wanted  it  for 
—  for  —  a  nest-egg !  aha-ha-ha !  You  must 
excuse  me." 

"You  wouldn't  'a'  bid  at  all  if  you'd 
knowed  it  was  me,  I  reckon,"  said  Seffy. 

"Yes,    I    would,"    declared    the    coquette. 

17 


SEFEOfl 

"  I'd  rather  have  you  than  any  nest-egg  in 
the  whole  world  —  any  two  of  'em !  " —  and 
when  he  did  not  take  his  chance  —  "  if  they 
were  made  of  gold !  " 

But  then  she  spoiled  it. 

"  It's  worse  fellows  than  you,  Seffy."  The 
touch  of  coquetry  was  but  too  apparent. 

"  And  better,"  said  Seffy,  with  a  lump  in 
his  throat.  "  I  know  I  ain't  no  good  with 
girls  —  and  I  don't  care !  " 

"Yes!"  she  assented  wickedly.  "There 
are  better  ones." 

"SamPritz  — " 

Sally  looked  away,  smiled,  and  was  silent. 

"Sulky  Seffy!"  she  finally  said. 

"  If  he  does  stink  of  salt  mackerel,  and 
'most  always  drunk ! "  Seffy  went  on  bitterly. 
"  He's  nothing  but  a  molasses-tapper !  " 

Sally  began  to  drift  further  away  and  to 
sing.  Calling  Pritz  names  was  of  no  conse- 
quence—  except  that  it  kept  Seffy  from 
making  love  to  her  while  he  was  doing  it  — 
which  seemed  foolish  to  Sally.  The  old  man 

18 


SEFK5S 

came  up  and  brought  them  together  again. 

"  Oach !  go  'long  and  make  lof  e  some  more. 
I  like  to  see  it.  I  expect  I  am  an  old  fool, 
but  I  like  to  see  it  —  it's  like  ol'  times  — 
yas,  and  if  you  don't  look  out  there,  Seffy, 
I'll  take  a  hand  myself  —  yassir !  go  'long !  " 

He  drew  them  very  close  together,  each 
looking  the  other  way.  Indeed  he  held  them 
there  for  a  moment,  roughly. 

Seffy  stole  a  glance  at  Sally.  He  wanted 
to  see  how  she  was  taking  his  father's  odiously 
intimate  suggestion.  But  it  happened  that 
Sally  wanted  to  see  how  he  was  taking  it. 
She  laughed  with  the  frankest  of  joy  as  their 
eyes  met. 

"  Seffy  —  I  do  —  like  you,"  said  the  co- 
quette. "  And  you  ought  to  know  it.  You 
imp!" 

Now  this  was  immensely  stimulating  to  the 
bashful  Seffy. 

"I  like  you"  he  said — "ever  since  we 
was  babies." 

"  Sef  —  I    don't    believe    you.     Or    you 

19 


SEFK50 

wouldn't  waste  your  time  so  —  about  Sam 
Pritz!" 

"  Er  —  Sally  —  where  you  going  to  to- 
night ?  "  Seffy  meant  to  prove  himself. 

And  Sally  answered,  with  a  little  fright  at 
the  sudden  aggressiveness  she  had  procured. 

"  Nowheres  that  7  know  of." 

"  Well  —  may  I  set  up  with  you?  " 

The  pea-green  sunbonnet  could  not  conceal 
the  amazement  and  then  the  radiance  which 
shot  into  Sally's  face. 

"  Set  —  up  —  with  —  me !  " 

"  Yes ! "  said  Seffy,  almost  savagely. 
"  That's  what  I  said." 

"  Oh,  I  —  I  guess  so !  Yes !  of  course !  " 
she  answered  variously,  and  rushed  off  home. 

"  You  know  I  own  you,"  she  laughed  back, 
as  if  she  had  not  been  sufficiently  explicit. 
"  I  paid  for  you !  Your  pappy's  got  the 
money!  I'll  expect  my  property  to-night." 

"  Yas !  "  shouted  the  happy  old  man,  "  and 
begoshens !  it's  a  reg'ler  bargain !  Ain't  it, 
Seffy  ?  You  her  property  —  real  estate, 

20 


SEFK5S 

hereditaments  and  tenements."  And  even 
Seffy  was  drawn  into  the  joyous  laughing 
conceit  of  it !  Had  he  not  just  done  the  brav- 
est thing  of  his  small  life? 

"Yes!"  he  cried  after  the  fascinating 
Sally.  "  For  sure  and  certain,  to-night !  " 

"  It's  a  bargain !  "  cried  she. 

"  For  better  or  worser,  richer  or  poorer, 
up  an'  down,  in  an'  out,  chassez  right  and 
left!  Aha-ha-ha!  Aha-ha-ha!  But,  Seffy," 
—  and  the  happy  father  turned  to  the  happy 
son  and  hugged  him,  "  don't  you  efer  forgit 
that  she's  a  feather-head  and  got  a  bright  red 
temper  like  her  daddy !  And  they  both  work 
mighty  bad  together  sometimes.  When  you 
get  her  at  the  right  place  onct  —  well,  nail 
her  down  —  hand  and  feet  —  so's  she  can't 
git  away.  When  she  gits  mad  her  little 
brain  evaporates,  and  if  she  had  a  knife  she'd 
go  round  stabbing  her  best  friends  —  that's 
the  only  sing  that  safes  her  —  yas,  and  us !  — 
no  knife.  If  she  had  a  knife  it  would  be  fu- 
nerals following  her  all  the  time." 

21 


II 


WHAT  HAVE  FEELINGS   GOT  TO  DO  WITH   COW- 
PASTURE? 

They  advanced  together  now,  Seffy's 
father  whistling  some  tune  that  was  never 
heard  before  on  earth,  and,  with  his  arm  in 
that  of  his  son,  they  watched  Sally  bounding 
away.  Once  more,  as  she  leaped  a  fence,  she 
looked  laughingly  back.  The  old  man 
whistled  wildly  out  of  tune.  Seffy  waved  a 
hand! 

"  Now  you  shouting,  Seffy !  Shout  ag'in !  " 

"  I  didn't  say  a  word  !  " 

"  Well  —  it  ain't  too  late !     Go  on !  " 

Now  Seffy  understood  and  laughed  with 
his  father. 

"Nice  gal,  Sef  — Seffy!" 

"  Yes ! "  admitted  Seffy  with  reserve. 

«  Healthy." 


Seffy  agreed  to  this,  also. 

"  No  doctor-bills !  "  his  father  amplified. 

Seffy  said  nothing. 

"  Entire  orphen." 

"  She's  got  a  granny !  " 

"  Yas,"  chuckled  the  old  man  at  the  way 
his  son  was  drifting  into  the  situation  — 
thinking  about  granny !  —  "  but  Sally  owns 
the  farm!  " 

"Uhu!"  said  Seffy,  whatever  that  might 
mean. 

"And  Sally's  the  boss!" 

Silence. 

"  And  granny  won't  object  to  any  one 
Sally  marries,  anyhow  —  she  dassent !  She'd 
git  licked!" 

"  Who  said   anything  about  marrying?  " 

Seffy  was  speciously  savage  now  —  as  any 
successful  wooer  might  be. 

"  Nobody  but  me,  sank  you ! "  said  the  old 
man  with  equally  specious  meekness.  "Look 
how  she  ken  jump  a  six-rail  fence.  Like  a 
three-year  filly!  She's  a  nice  gal,  Seffy  — 


SEF'&XH 


and  the  farms  j'ine  together  —  her  pasture- 
field  and  our  corn-field.  And  she's  kissing  her 
hand  backwards !  At  me  or  you,  Seff y  ?  " 

Seffy  said  he  didn't  know.  And  he  did  not 
return  the  kiss  —  though  he  yearned  to. 

"  Well,  I  bet  a  dollar  that  the  first  initial 
of  his  last  name  is  Sephanijah  P.  Baumgart- 
ner,  Junior." 

"Well!"  said  Seffy  with  a  great  flourish, 
"  I'm  going  to  set  up  with  her  to-night." 

"Oach  — git  out,  Sef!"— though  he 
Lnew  it. 

"  You'll  see." 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  his  father.  "I 
wouldn't  be  so  durn  mean.  Nossir!" 

Seffy  grinned  at  this  subtle  foolery,  and  his 
courage  continued  to  grow. 

"  I'm  going  to  wear  my  high  hat !  "  he  an- 
nounced, with  his  nose  quite  in  the  air. 

"  No,  Sef !  "  said  the  old  man  with  a  won- 
derful inflection,  facing  him  about  that  he 
might  look  into  his  determined  face.  For  it 
must  be  explained  that  the  stovepipe  hat,  in 

•4 


that  day  and  that  country,  was  dedicated  only 
to  the  most  momentous  social  occasions  and 
that,  consequently,  gentlemen  wore  it  to  go 
courting. 

"  Yes !  "  declared  Seffy  again. 

"  Bring  forth  the  stovepipe, 

The  stovepipe,  the  stovepipe  —  " 

chanted  Seffy's  frivolous  father  in  the  way  of 
the  Anvil  Chorus. 

"  And  my  butterfly  necktie  with  —  " 
"  Wiss   the    di'mond   on  ? "   whispered   his 
father. 

They  laughed  in  confidence  of  their  secret. 
Seffy,  the  successful  wooer,  was  thawing  out 
again.  The  diamond  was  not  a  diamond  at 
all  —  the  Hebrew  who  sold  it  to  Seffy  had 
confessed  as  much.  But  he  also  swore  that 
if  it  were  kept  in  perfect  polish  no  one  but 
a  diamond  merchant  could  tell  the  difference. 
Therefore,  there  being  no  diamond  merchant 
anywhere  near,  and  the  jewel  being  alwaj's 
immaculate,  Seffy  presented  it  as  a  diamond 

25 


SEFFOSB 


and  had  risen  perceptibly  in  the  opinion  of 
the  vicinage. 

"  And  —  and  —  and  —  Sef  —  SefFy,  what 
you  goin'  to  do?  " 

"  Do?  " 

Seffy  had  been  absorbed  in  what  he  was 
going  to  wear. 

"  Yas  —  yas  —  that's  the  most  impor- 
tant." He  encircled  Seffy's  waist  and  gently 
squeezed  it.  "  Oh,  of  course!  Hah?  But 
what  yit?  " 

I  regret  to  say  that  Seffy  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"  Seffy,"  he  said  impressively,  "  you  baP 
tol*  me  what  you  goin*  to  wear.  It  ain't 
much.  The  weather's  yit  pooty  col'  nights. 
But  I  ken  stand  it  if  you  ken  —  God  knows 
about  Sally !  Now,  what  you  goin'  to  do  — 
that's  the  conuntrum  I  ast  you !  " 

Still  it  was  not  clear  to  Seffy. 

"  Why  —  what  I'm  a-going  to  do,  hah  ? 
Why  —  whatever  occurs." 

"  Gosh-a'mighty !     And  nefer  say  a  word 

26 


or  do  a  sing  to  help  the  occurrences  along? 
Goshens !  What  a  setting-up !  Why  —  say 
—  Seffy,  what  you  set  up  for?  " 

Seffy  did  not  exactly  know.  He  had  never 
hoped  to  practise  the  thing  —  in  that  sub- 
limely militant  phase. 

"What  do  y&u,  think?" 

"Well,  Sef  —  plow  straight  to  her  heart. 
I  wisht  I  had  your  chance.  I'd  show  you  a 
other-guess  kind  a  setting-up  —  yassir ! 
Make  your  mouth  warter  and  your  head 
swim,  begoshens!  Why,  that  Sally's  just 
like  a  young  stubble-field;  got  to  be  worked 
constant,  and  plowed  deep,  and  manured 
heafy,  and  mebby  drained  wiss  blind  ditches, 
and  crops  changed  constant,  and  kep* 
a-going  thataway  —  constant  —  constant  — 
so's  the  weeds  can't  git  in  her.  Then  you 
ken  put  her  in  wheat  after  a  while  and  git 
your  money  back." 

This  drastic  metaphor  had  its  effect.  Seffy 
began  to  understand.  He  said  so. 

"Now  look  here,  Seffy,"  his  father  went 

27 


on  more  softly,  "  when  you  git  to  this  —  and 
this  —  and  this," —  he  went  through  his 
pantomime  again,  and  it  included  a  progres- 
sive caressing  to  the  kissing  point  —  "  well, 
chust  when  you  bose  comfortable  —  hah?  — 
mebby  on  one  cheer,  what  I  know  —  it's  so 
long  sence  I  done  it  myself  —  when  you  bose 
comfortable,  ast  her  —  chust  ast  her  —  aham ! 
—  what  she'll  take  for  the  pasture-field !  She 
owns  you  bose  and  she  can't  use  bose  you 
and  the  pasture.  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
sef eral  in  another  feller's  —  not  so  ?  " 

But  Seffy  only  stopped  and  stared  at  his 
father.  This,  again,  he  did  not  understand. 

"  You  know  well  enough  I  got  no  money 
to  buy  no  pasture-field,"  said  he. 

"  Gosh-a'mighty ! "  said  the  old  man  joy- 
fully, making  as  if  he  would  strike  Seffy  with 
his  huge  fist  —  a  thing  he  often  did.  "  And 
ain't  got  nossing  to  trade  ?  " 

"  Nothing  except  the  mare !  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Say  —  ain't  you  got  no  feelings,  you 
idjiot?  " 

28 


"  said  Seffy.  And  then:  "  But 
what's  feelings  got  to  do  with  cow-pasture?  " 

"  Oach !  No  wonder  he  wants  to  be  an 
anchel,  and  wiss  the  anchels  stand  —  holding 
sings  in  his  hands  and  on  his  head !  He's  too 
good  for  this  wile  world.  He'd  linger  shif- 
ering  on  the  brink  and  fear  to  launch  away 
all  his  durn  life  —  if  some  one  didn't  push 
him  in.  So  here  goes !  " 

This  was  spoken  to  the  skies,  apparently, 
but  now  he  turned  to  his  son  again. 

"  Look  a-yere,  you  yo;mg  dummer-ux,* 
feelings  is  the  same  to  gals  like  Sally,  as 
money  is  to  you  and  me.  You  ken  buy  po- 
tatoes wiss  'em!  Do  you  understand?" 

Seffy  said  that  he  did,  now. 

"  Well,  then,  I'fe  tried  to  buy  that  pasture- 
field  a  sousand  times " 

Seffy  started. 

"Yas,  that's  a  little  bit  a 'lie  —  mebby  a 
dozen  times.  And  at  last  Sally's  daddy  said 
he'd  lick  me  if  I  efer  said  pasture-field  ag*in, 
*  Dumb-ox  —  a  term  of  reproach. 


SEFK5S 

and  I  said  it  ag'in  and  he  licked  me !  He  was 
a  big  man  —  and  red-headed  yit,  like  Sally. 
Now,  look  a-yere  —  you  ken  git  that  pasture- 
field  wissout  money  and  wissout  price  — ex- 
cept you'  dam*  feelings  which  ain't  no  other 
use.  Sally  won't  lick  you  —  if  she  is  bigger 
—  don't  be  a-skeered.  You  got  tons  of  f  eel- 
in's  you  ain't  got  no  other  use  for  —  don't 
waste  'em  —  they're  good  green  money, 
and  we'll  git  efen  wiss  Sally's  daddy  for  lick- 
ing me  yit  —  and  somesing  on  the  side ! 
Huh?" 

At  last  it  was  evident  that  Seffy  fully  un- 
derstood, and  his  father  broke  into  that  dis- 
cordant whistle  once  more. 

"A  gal  that  ken  jump  a  six-rail  fence  — 
and  wissout  no  running  start  —  don't  let  her 
git  apast  you !  " 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  set  up  with  her  to- 
night," said  Seffy  again,  with  a  huge  ahem. 
And  the  tune  his  father  whistled  as  he  opened 
the  door  for  him  sounded  something  like  *'  I 
want  to  be  an  angel." 

30 


"  But  not  to  buy  no  pasture-land ! " 
warned  Seffy. 

"  Oach,  no,  of  course  not !  "  agreed  his  wily 
old  father.  "  That's  chust  one  of  my  durn 
jokes.  But  I  expect  I'll  take  the  fence  down 
to-morrow!  Say,  Sef,  you  chust  marry  the 
gal.  I'll  take  keer  the  fence !  " 


Ill 

BUT  SALLY   WAS  THE  ANGEL 

It  took  Seffy  a  long  time  to  array  himself 
as  he  had  threatened.  And  when  it  was  all 
done  you  wouldn't  have  known  him  —  you 
wouldn't  have  cared  to  know  him.  For  his 
fine  yellow  hair  was  changed  to  an  ugly  brown 
by  the  patent  hair-oil  with  which  he  had 
dressed  it  —  and  you  would  not  have  liked  its 
fragrance,  I  trust.  Bergamot,  I  think  it 
was.  His  fine  young  throat  was  garroted 
within  a  starched  standing  collar,  his  feet  were 
pinched  in  creaking  boots,  his  hands  close- 
gauntleted  in  buckskin  gloves,  and  he  alto- 
gether incomparable,  uncomfortable,  and 
triumphant. 

Down  stairs  his  father  paced  the  floor, 
watch  in  hand.  From  time  to  time  he  would 


. 

call  out  the  hour,  like  a  watchman  on  a  min- 
aret. At  last: 

"  Look  a-yere,  Seffy,  it's  about  two  inches 
apast  sefen  —  and  by  the  time  you  git  there 
—  say,  nefer  gif  another  feller  a  chance  to 
git  there  afore  you  or  to  leave  after  you !  " 

Seffy  descended  at  that  moment  with  his 
hat  poised  in  his  left  hand. 

His  father  dropped  his  watch  and  picked 
it  up. 

Both  stood  at  gaze  for  a  moment. 

"  Sunder,  Sef !  You  as  beautiful  as  the 
sun,  moon  and  stars  —  and  as  stinky  as  sef- 
eral  apothecary  shops.  Yere,  take  the  watch 
and  git  along  —  so's  you  haf  some  time  wiss 
you  —  now  git  along !  You  late  a'ready. 
Goshens!  You  wass  behind  time  when  you 
wass  born!  Yas,  your  mammy  wass  disap- 
p'inted  in  you  right  at  first.  You  wass 
seventy-six  hours  late!  But  now  you  re- 
formed —  sank  God !  I  always  knowed  it 
wass  a  cure  for  it,  but  I  didn't  know  it  wass 
anysing  as  nice  as  Sally." 


Seffy  issued  forth  to  his  first  conquest  — 
lighted  as  far  as  the  front  gate  by  the  fat 
lamp  held  in  his  father's  hand. 

"A  —  Sef  —  Seffy,  shall  I  set  up  for  you 
tell  you  git  home  ?  "  he  called  into  the  dark. 

"No!"  shouted  Seffy. 

"Aha  —  aha  —  aha!  That  sounds  right! 
Don't  you  forgit  when  you  bose  —  well  — 
comfortable  —  aha  —  ha-ha!  Mebby  on  one 
cheer  aha  —  ha-ha.  And  we'll  bose  take  the 
fence  down  to-morrow.  Mebby  all  three !  " 


IV 

SUPPOSE    SHE    HAD    GREASED    HER    HAIE? 

Seffy  sauntered  confidently  up  The  Hill  of 
Delight  upon  which  Sally's  house  stood. 
When  within  sight  of  it  he  polished  his  hat 
on  his  sleeve,  set  the  butterfly  necktie  straight, 
felt  that  the  apochryphal  diamond  was  safe, 
and  marched  up  to  the  house  —  only  to  arrive 
a  little  later  than  a  buggy  from  which  Sam 
Pritz,  he  was  certain,  had  extracted  Sally. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  thought  of  his 
father,  which  opportunely  came,  Seffy  would 
have  gone  straight  home  —  so  did  his  heart 
fail  him. 

And  then  instantly  there  was  another  and 
better  reason  for  staying.  Sally  had  seen 
him.  As  he  wavered  —  which  she  seemed  to 
know  —  she  came  hurrying  down  upon  him. 

35 


5EFR5S 

It  was  too  late  then,  even  if  he  had  had 
the  courage  to  retreat  from  such  dear  danger. 
She  put  her  arm  within  his,  and,  leaning  be- 
witchingly  upon  it,  led  him  into  the  house, 
chattering  fervidly  —  the  most  willing  of 
captives  to  the  most  beguiling  of  captors. 
For  Sally  had  put  on  all  her  witcheries  for 
this  night  of  nights. 

Once  within  she  added  the  charm  of  the  ac- 
complished amateur  hostess  —  doing  fasci- 
nating things  which  needed  no  doing  —  hov- 
ering about  Seffy  like  the  very  spirit  of  a 
home  —  so  that  he  had  the  intoxicating  senst 
of  difficulty  in  keeping  from  being  entangled 
in  her  fluttering  arms  and  garments.  For 
his  feet,  unused  to  Elysium,  would  catch 
themselves  in  her  whirling  skirts  —  as  if  they 
knew  better  than  he  their  ultimate  destiny. 
All  this  was  a  splendid  revelation  to  Seffy. 
He  had  never,  in  all  his  dreams  of  her  (and 
they  were  legion!)  fancied  this  soft  and  win- 
ning domesticity.  It  went  to  his  head  like 
alcohol  —  opium  —  ether  —  making  it  so 

36 


. 

light  and  happy  as  to  be  quite  useless  to  him. 

So,  when  Sally  finally  took  the  tall  hat  and 
went  to  deposit  it  in  the  dark  parlor,  Seffy 
followed  her,  for  no  better  reason  than  the 
things  in  the  basin  have  for  following  the 
magnet.  And,  understanding  this,  Sally 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  him.  And  then, 
snuffing  her  conquest  at  a  distance,  she 
laughed  and  mercifully  stopped  for  him  to 
catch  up,  that  she  might  presently  surren- 
der. She  got  his  hand  —  to  lead  him.  Only 
that! 

"  You  care  a  lot  for  —  your  hat,  don't  you, 
Sef — Seffy?  And  you  want  to  —  to  — 
see  " —  he  couldn't  see  a  thing  —  "  that  I 
—  that  I  —  put  it  at  a  safe  —  place  ?  " 

Still  by  the  hand  further  into  the  darkness ! 

And  Seffy  honestly  tried  to  prevaricate  for 
her  a  "  Yes."  But  he  wasn't  thinking  of  the 
treasured  hat  at  all,  only  the  hand  —  that  it 
was  deliciously  warm  and  soft  and  electrical. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  very  close  to  him. 
Only  he  was  so  dull!  He  did  not  know! 

37 


SEFEOS 


Heavens!  when  a  girl  rcaits  for  a  youth  to 
come  close  to  her  in  the  dark  —  what  else 
can  she  mean?  But  Seffy  actually  did  not 
know. 

"  Sam's  over  there !  I  —  I  —  wish  —  he  — 
wasn't ! " 

To  whisper  it  she  had  to  put  one  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  How  else  could  she  whisper  it? 
And  she  laughed  a  low  bubbling  laugh  — 
half-confession  —  half-defiance  —  all  invita- 
tion! 

Seffy  stooped  to  whisper  back  to  her. 
Sally  waited. 

"  7  A-notr/  " 

Only  that !  —  Sally  was  disappointed.  For 
it  was  the  custom  in  that  day  and  vicinage 
and  in  such  circumstances  to  kiss  a  girl  with- 
out fail.  And  could  a  girl  do  more  than  this 
by  way  of  invitation?  You  must  have  per- 
ceived that  Sally  was  learned  in  these  matters. 
And  you  may  be  sure  she  did  not  forget  Sef- 
fy's  bashfulness  and  his  inexperience.  But 
surely  any  one  would  understand  that  much 

38 


—  in  the  dark !  It  argues  heavily  for  the 
depth  of  Sally's  affection  for  Seffy  that  she 
kept  her  temper,  for  the  losing  of  which  she 
was  almost  as  famous  as  her  father  had  been 
for  losing  his,  and  only  sighed  desperately. 
Any  other  girl  would  have  left  hope  —  and 
Seffy  —  behind.  At  that  moment,  happily, 
Sam  was  heard  to  move.  She  put  her  hand 
on  Seffy's  mouth  as  if  some  danger  were 
there.  And  Seffy,  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  it 
must  have  been,  kissed  it! 

"Oh! " 

Both  of  Sally's  hands  went  up  in  real  sur- 
prise —  and  Seffy  caught  and  kissed  them 
both! 

«Oh!  — oh!  — oh!" 

She  had  to  stuff  her  gay  little  handkerchief 
into  her  mouth  to  keep  the  joy  within.  After 
all,  could  this  Seffy  be  playing  'possum? 
Was  he  deep?  I  don't  know,  any  more  than 
Sally,  how  it  all  happened  —  except  that  per- 
haps Seffy  discovered  himself  suddenly  brave 
in  the  darkness,  and  Sally  quite  defenseless  — 

39 


but  presently  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder, 
and  his  arm  was  around  her,  in  quite  the  way 
his  father  had  suggested  and  Sally  had  ex- 
pected. And  neither  of  them  thought  of  him 
or  a  word  he  had  said  —  concerning  lands, 
tenements  and  hereditaments.  Sally's  hand 
crept  up  insidiously  about  Seffy's  neck.  But 
then  it  was  fearfully  withdrawn. 

"  Please  don't  grease  your  hair  hereafter," 
said  Sally.  But  she  kissed  it! 

"Hereafter!  Hereafter!"  Seffy's  heart 
pounded. 

"  Suppose  I'd  grease  my  hair !  "  said  Sally 
speciously. 

The  horror  conjured  up  was  factitious. 
Remember  where  her  head  was  resting.  ^  But 
an  alien  element  was  now  raised  between 
them.  Seffy  moved  away.  Maids  should 
not  cavil  even  at  oiled  hair  —  so  early  in  their 
courtship!  More  fascination  was  needed  — 
perhaps  only  a  soft  cooing  word. 

"  You  —  you  wouldn't  like  that  —  would 
you?  " —  still  meekly. 

40 


"No!"  Seffy  answered,  puzzled.  "My 
Sunday  coat  would  git  greased !  " 

"My  sleeve  did!" 

She  inspected  a  soiled  sleeve  —  in  the  ray 
from  the  hall  —  which  had  no  spot  on  it ! 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  sleeve.  It'll  wash 
out.  But  Sam  —  he  sees  every " 

She  laughed  and  was  about  to  plunge  reck- 
lessly back  into  his  arms.  But  her  hair  was 
beautiful !  And  she  had  made  it  more  so  for 
him !  He  must  see  it !  She  plunged  further 
into  the  ray  from  the  hall  lamp  instead  and 
flung  it  forward  about  her  face.  It  clung 
and  clustered  there  like  an  aureole.  Seffy,  in 
his  brief  life,  he  thought,  had  seen  nothing 
more  divine.  She  looked  saucily  up  at  him 
out  of  the  tops  of  her  eyes.  His  adoration 
made  her  very  happy. 

"  There !  ain't  that  nicer  than  yourn  ?  " 
She  buried  her  fingers  in  the  splendid  mass, 
and  pushed  it  into  further  disorder  until  it  lay 
close  —  shining  about  her  face. 

"  Oh,  Sally,"  said  Seffy,  approaching  her 

41 


as  if  she  were  some  goddess,  "  wear  it  that 
way  always !  " 

The  alien  thing  was  gone!  They  were 
in  rapport  once  more! 

"  They'd  have  me  in  an  asylum  in  no  time. 
But " 

Somehow,  Seffy's  arms  opened  to  invite  her 
back  and  she  came  with  a  low  reckless  laugh. 
The  wild  sheaf  of  her  hair  lodged  again  close 
under  his  chin.  He  recklessly  thrust  his  face 
into  it.  Its  perfume  in  his  nostrils  and  its 
movement  against  his  skin  were  ineffable.  He 
kissed  it.  Again  it  was  the  strange  fashion 
of  the  cavalier  —  in  those  kisses !  Where  did 
he  learn  it? 

"  Oh,  Sally,  wear  it  always  so !  "  he  begged 
again.  And  —  good  heavens !  —  he  put  his 
lips  down  upon  it  once  more! 

"  Just  when  you  come  to  see  me,"  mur- 
mured Sally  to  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

"  Sally  —  Sally,  you  are  an  angel !  "  said 
Seffy. 

And  this  one  little  word  which  came  to  dull 


9$ 

Seffy  so  happily  out  of  his  favorite  song 
made  the  coquette  very  serious. 

"Not  an  angel,  Seffy,  Sef  — Seffy,"  she 
said  with  her  head  a  little  down.  "  I  don't 
think  you  would  like  me  to  be  such.  I'm  not ! 
Angels  never  laugh,  you  know  —  nor  love. 
And  I  want  to  do  a  lot  of  both.  But  —  but 
—  Seffy,  I'd  like  to  be  something  very  nice  — 
to  you.  What  is  the  nicest  thing  a  girl  can 
be  to  you  ?  " 

"  A  sister !  "  ventured  Seffy,  who  had  never 
had  one. 

Sally  shivered,  then  laughed.  But  she 
took  herself  away  from  Seffy. 

The  Pressel  temper  flamed  a  moment,  and 
certain  words  began  to  form  in  her  mind  like 
"  Fool !  "  and  "  Go !  "  and  "  Damn !  "  For, 
I  think  I  haven't  told  you  that  Sally  some- 
times swore  —  in  extreme  circumstances. 
Her  father  had  done  so. 

She  spoke  with  that  trifle  of  hard  brutal- 
ity which  came  out  now  and  then. 

"  You  know  what  they  say  at  the  store  — 

43 


that  I  flirt  and  am  not  nice  in  other  ways,  and 
they're  right.  But  I  do  want  to  be  nice  to 
you,  though  not  a  sister  —  quite.  Ugh ! 
And,  you  know,  one  thing  they  say  is  true  — 
my  temper.  Look  out  for  that!  You  must 
always  take  time  to  forgive  me  and  let  me  ask 
to  be  forgiven." 

Now,  I  beg  to  ask  you  whether  an  amende 
was  ever  more  delicious  —  considering  that 
much  of  what  she  said  to  and  for  Seffy  was 
meant  to  and  for  herself  alone?  Indeed,  be- 
fore she  got  through  with  it,  it  had  affected 
her  quite  as  if  Seffy  had  pleaded  it,  and  her 
voice  sank  to  its  pretty  mezzo,  then  quivered 
a  bit,  and  she  understood  that  she  was  answer- 
ing herself! 

"  Seffy,  I  am  awfully  sorry !  " 

"  For  what,  Sally?  "  asked  Seffy. 

Seffy,  dull  Seffy,  really  did  not  know  for 
what.  But  there  is  something  which  God 
gives  the  dull,  as  well  as  the  sprightly-witted, 
that  outleaps  words  to  comfort  sorrow.  And 
this  Seffy  had  abundantly.  It  first  expressed 

44 


. 

itself  in  the  strong  young  arms  which  again 
closed  in  utter  silence  upon  the  sorrowing  one. 

Presently  (perhaps  you  have  not  forgotten 
how  it  is?)  in  the  same  silence,  Seffy's  lips 
found  hers  —  not  as  the  victor  pounces  upon 
the  spoil  of  his  conquest  —  but  slowly,  uncer- 
tainly, unconfidently  —  as  if  the  lips  were  a 
saint's  relics ;  and  Sally  waited,  not  as  she  had 
waited  before,  but  in  the  knowledge  that  her 
hour  had  come,  and  that  this  kiss, —  the  first 
this  youth  had  given  to  woman  since  his 
mother  died  in  his  infancy, —  must  not  be 
received  as  others  had  been,  but  as  sacredly 
as  it  came;  and  when  it  finally  fell  the  lips 
of  the  coquette  quivered  as  they  received  it, 
and  then  suddenly  sobbed,  and  did  not  know 
why  — 

Do  you? 

"  I  have  never  kissed  no  one  but  mother," 
said  Seffy,  who  felt  heinous,  "  I  don't  know 
how!  I  don't  know  what  made  me  do 
it  —  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  won't  happen 
again " 

45 


Whereat  Sally  laughed  and  clung  about 
Seffy's  delighted  neck  and  cried  to  his  puz- 
zled heart: 

"Yes,  it  will!" 

And  kissed  him  back! 

"  Sally,"  said  Seffy  with  solemnity,  "  do 
you  mean  it?  You  not  mad?" 

"  Seffy,"  said  Sally,  "  I  am  not  worth  it. 
I  have  been  kissed  by  everybody  who  wanted 
to  kiss  me  —  and  I  have  kissed  everybody  I 
wanted  to  kiss ! " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Sally,"  said  Seffy, 
not  meaning  at  all  what  she  thought  he  meant 
—  nor  anything  quite  clear  to  himself,  ex- 
cept that  she  had  recklessly  squandered  some- 
thing precious. 

"  I  am,  too,  now." 

And  then  — 

"  I  shall  never  kiss  no  one  but  you,  no 
more." 

"  Nor  I  anybody  but  you,  Seffy." 

And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  in  that  mo- 
ment, Seffy  was  the  greater,  braver  and 

46 


SEFKXS 

stronger,  and  Sally  but  the  waiting,  willing 
woman  —  as  she  ought  to  have  been.  Indeed 
Seffy  was  courageous  enough  to  have  put  that 
question  which  might,  perhaps,  transmute  the 
pasture-field  into  one  of  those  that  lie  within 
the  borders  of  Elysium. 

But  Sam  moved  —  with  decision.  They 
flew  apart.  Though  he  did  not  at  once  enter 
it  was  too  late  —  the  rapport  was  broken. 
Nevertheless,  such  things  can  be  mended,  if 
there  is  time.  It  is  quite  certain  that  if  they 
could  have  continued  a  little  longer  in  that 
dark  parlor,  with  only  the  small  ray  of  the 
lamp  from  the  hall  to  light  it,  everything 
the  sleepless  old  man  at  home  so  ardently 
wished  might  have  been  accomplished  and 
they  might  have  taken  down  that  line-fence 
the  next  day  and  then  have  lived  happy  ever 
after  —  quite  in  the  way  of  the  old-fashioned 
story-books.  For  Seffy  was  still  brave  to 
audacity,  and  Sally  was  yet  at  his  mercy  — 
and  happy  to  be  so. 

And  here,  if  we  were  not  arrived  at  a  climax, 

47 


I  would  venture  to  halt  this  history  for  a  mo- 
ment that  we  might  discuss  a  bit  those  trifles 
in  life  which  the  ancients  called  Fate ;  and  for 
which,  or  the  lack  of  which,  life  often  goes 
awry! 

But  while  Seflfy's  courage  grew  again,  and 
Sally's  hope,  the  door  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  opened  and  the  odious  Sam  came 
through. 


V 

SEFFY'S  SITTING-UP  —  AND  DOWN  AGAIN 

However,  there  was  another  door,  —  and 
Sam  arrived  only  to  hear  it  close  upon  Seffy, 
whom  Sally  had  just  pushed  through  it. 

"  Seffy?"  asked  Sam  casually. 

"  Yes ! "  answered  Sally,  quite  unable  to 
keep  the  joy  out  of  her  voice,  "  he's  just  come, 
and  gone  out  to  the  spring  —  for  a  — 
drink !  "  prevaricated  Sally. 

"  He'll  drink  something." 

By  which  Sam  meant  some  kind  of  an  ani- 
mal, with  his  water. 

"  Nothing  but  water ! "  said  Sally  mean- 
ingly. Sam  perceived  instantly  "  how  the 
land  lay,"  and  made  his  cunning  plans.  Sam 
was  not  dull.  He  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room  with  Sally  —  where  Seffy  presently  f ol- 

49 


lowed,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  like  a  conquering 
hero  —  at  which  Sam  gloated. 

Unfortunately  for  Seffy,  rural  etiquette, 
as  everybody  knows,  gave  Sam  precedence. 
"  First  come  —  last  go,"  is  the  illogical  rule. 
But  you  are  to  be  informed  that  the  late- 
comer is  at  liberty  to  "  outsit "  his  rival,  if  he 
can  —  or  to  dislodge  him,  if  he  can  —  by 
strategy.  But  every  rustic  lover  attempts 
this  at  the  greatest  of  risks.  To  fail  is 
equivalent  to  losing  caste  —  not  only  with  the 
lady  in  question,  but  also  with  the  fickle 
world.  For  no  girl  of  any  spirit  would  look 
upon  a  swain  who  had  ignominiously  failed  at 
such  a  crisis,  unless  he  should  rehabilitate 
himself  —  which  means  to  accomplish  the  al- 
most impossible. 

Sam  took  all  this  into  consideration  as  he 
watched  Seffy,  —  reclining  in  the  easy  chair 
which  Sally  had  injudiciously  and  invidiously 
placed  for  him, —  grow  drowsy. 

"  Salhr,"  said  Sam  at  the  right  moment, 
"  play  something." 

50 


"  I  don't  care  to !  "  protested  Sally.  But 
then  she  turned  prettily  to  Seffy : 

"Shall  I,  Seffy?" 

"Yes,"  smiled  Seffy,  from  his  Elysium, 
secure  and  confident.  "  I  don't  care !  " 

"And,"  said  Sam  insidiously,  "we'll  all 
sing.  You  air,  me  tenor,  Seffy  bass." 

"  I  can't  sing  no  bass ! "  said  Seffy  easily, 
"  and  Sam  knows  it.  He  can't  make  no  fool 
off  of  me.  Go  on,  I'll  set  here  and  —  and  — 
enjoy  myself." 

This  was  the  direct  rustic  challenge,  with 
aplomb!  Sam  might  choose  his  weapons! 
It  made  no  odds!  And  Sally  had  to  take  it 
up  for  Seffy.  This  she  loyally  did. 

Unfortunately,  when  Sally  went  to  the  or- 
gan Seffy  was  at  her  back  and  in  the  shadow 
—  the  lamp  had  to  be  moved  —  and  in  that 
sleepy-hollow  chair.  But  she  had  all  possi- 
ble confidence  in  him  —  and,  alas !  he  had  in 
himself.  For  a  while  he  feasted  his  eyes  upon 
the  exquisite  back  she  had  turned  to  him  — • 
and  then,  with  a  thrill  of  possession,  inven- 

51 


Sfl 

toried  the  hair  he  had  kissed  —  a  little  disor- 
dered —  the  lips  —  the  waist  he  had  embraced 
—  how  glorious  that  was !  It  seemed  almost 
impossible  now  that  he  had  done  it.  And  the 
hands  —  what  ?  He  was  lost  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  was  plowing  opposite  his  father. 
The  voice  which  had  said  so  sweetly  —  what 
was  it  exactly  it  had  said? — what? — he  was 
nearing  the  line  stake  —  still  plowing  —  he 
could  hear  the  voice  quite  distinctly  —  many 
of  them  —  a  choir  —  "I  want  to  be  an  an- 
gel." Sally  seemed  mistily  there  —  but  he 
was  still  plowing  —  now  he  stopped  —  more 
and  more  mist  —  Seffy  slept. 

Sam  stopped  his  tenor  that  Sally  might 
hear  him  sleep. 

"  He  said  he  couldn't  sing  bass ! "  grinned 
Sam. 

Sally's  hand  flew  to  her  heart.  She  had 
been  trilling,  if  not  with  the  art,  yet  with  the 
feeling,  of  a  lark.  It  was  simply  the  joy 
with  which  Seffy  had  filled  her  —  only  joy, 
vast  and  free.  The  red  flamed  in  her  cheeks 


SEFEpfl 

at  what  she  saw.  I  shall  not  describe  it.  No 
lover  was  ever  more  abject  —  no  lady  was 
ever  more  furious!  We  see  the  comedy  of  it 
only.  We  would  not  have  been  hurt,  eh?  But 
we  did  not  live  then  nor  there  nor  under 
Sally's  curious  small  conditions  —  nor  with 
Sally's  temper.  Curiously  enough,  this 
Scripture  came  to  Sally's  mind : 

Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour? 

You  know  what  strange  and  inopportune 
things  come  into  the  distressed,  unguarded 
mind. 

Sally  rose  with  a  dignity  which  even  Sam 
had  not  suspected,  and  said: 

"  Gentlemen,  good  night." 


53 


VI 

THE   CLOTHES-PIN   CURE 

The  old  man  had  plowed  six  times  around 
the  six-acre  field  the  next  morning,  singing 
and  whistling  his  unearthly  tune  as  he  went, 
when  Seffy  unlimbered  at  the  bars  and  started 
the  big  bay  around  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  first  time  they  passed  his  father  only 
winked  mysteriously  and  continued  to  whistle. 
The  next  time  he  stopped. 

"We  won't  go  home  tell  morning,  hah, 
Sef  ?  I  usen't  to  myself.  Say  —  looks  like 
somesing  occurred  after  all,  hah?  No  one 
don't  stay  tell  morning  unless " 

Seffy  was  silent. 

"  That's  right.  Kiss  but  nefer  tell.  For 
telling  breaks  the  spell.  If  you've  had  one 
and  want  another  —  kiss  but  shut  your  head 

54 


SEFEOfl 

up.  Say  —  you  don't  want  to  be  no  anchel 
now,  I  expect,  hah?  Mebby  you  own  one?  " 

But  Seffy  and  the  mare  had  disappointing- 
ly passed  on. 

"  Well !  Gee  —  wo  —  way  —  gee !  Git 
along !  "  And  he  also  made  another  furrow  — 
in  a  less  happy  temper. 

When  they  met  again: 

"Whoa!"  roared  the  old  man,  and  the 
mare  stopped  —  trembling  in  her  tracks.  He 
laughed.  Betz  still  responded  if  Seffy  did 
not. 

"  Sef —  Seffy,  did  anysing  occur?  " 

Seffy  faltered  guiltily  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  then  briefly,  "  something 
always  occurs." 

"  Sef  —  Seffy,  but  about  the  pasture  —  " 

Seffy  started  the  mare. 

"  Whoa ! "  roared  the  old  man  again,  with 
the  same  result.  But  he  did  not  laugh  this 
time.  He  sat  on  the  handles  of  his  plow  and 
regarded  his  son.  He  was  vaguely  disturb- 
ing. 

55 


SEFKJfl 

"  Say  — "  he  began  ominously,  "  you 
didn't  git  sot  out?  " 

"  Uhu,"  answered  Seffy. 

"  What!   Why,  you  dura  —  " 

But  then  he  laughed. 

"Shiny  hat  no  good?" 

Seffy  said  no. 

"  Nor  the  diamond,  nor  the  hair-grease,  nor 
nossing?  Oh  —  gosh-a'mighty !  Gee  —  wo 
—  way!" 

But  before  they  met  again,  his  gaiety  had 
given  way  to  an  immense  disappointment. 
The  tragedy  of  the  situation  had  prevailed 
with  him,  too.  Seffy  sullenly  kicked  a  clod  to 
pieces.  His  father  looked  off  toward  the 
coveted  pasture  and  sighed.  It  was  a  superb 
piece  of  land.  And  it  had  never  looked 
fairer.  The  sun  was  on  its  velvet  green  — 
the  sun  of  the  morning.  A  few  thick-girthed, 
wholesome  oak-trees  punctuated  it.  A  stream 
laughed  through  it.  Goodly  cows  stood 
chewing  in  the  water  and  swishing  ami- 
ably at  the  flies.  The  fences  were  intact. 

56 


SEFK5S 

It  would  have  been  a  delight  to  the  eyes  of 
any  farmer  on  earth.  The  old  man  sat  on 
the  handles  of  his  plow  until  it  all  got  in  his 
head  once  more. 

"  It's  a  nice  field,  Sef  —  Seffy,"  he  sighed. 
"  I  nefer  seen  no  such  clofer.  And  she's  a 
nice  gal.  I  nefer  seen  no  such  gal,  bose  nice. 
Oach !  they  belong  together.  Well,  gee  — 
wo  —  way !  They  belong  to  us!  " 

They  always  stopped  for  a  word  when  they 
met.  The  next  time  the  old  man  said,  quite 
caressingly : 

"Come  yere,  Sef!" 

He  patted  one  plow-handle,  which  Seffy 
took,  while  he  took  the  other.  He  thought- 
fully pulled  the  boy's  shirt  into  place. 

"Sef,"  he  said,  "tell  me  about  it.  I'm 
sorry  I  laughed !  But  I  lof  e  that  pasture  and 
you  lofe  Sally.  Let's  not  be  fools,  but  git 
'em.  I  expect  you  feel  a  little  bad.  But 
mebby  you'll  feel  better  if  you  talk  about  it. 
That  is  the  way  wiss  me,  I  know;  when  any- 
sing  occurs  I  like  to  gabble  about  it  —  and 

57 


go  and  do  it  again  —  better."  He  let  his 
hand  rest  kindly  on  Seffy's  shoulder.  To 
this  his  son  responded. 

"I  fell  asleep,"  said  SefFy,  sniffling  omi- 
nously. 

"  Of  course,"  said  his  father,  with  a  com- 
forting movement  of  his  hand.  "  That's 
right." 

Seffy  was  amazed  —  and  comforted. 

"  I  expect  I  snored " 

"  Er  —  yas  —  you  do  snore,  Sef .  Ef  ery- 
body  does.  It's  the  Lord's  fault,  I  expect." 

"  In  a  nice  cheer " 

"  Yas  — you  oughtn't  'a'  set  in  no  nice 
cheer,  Sef ;  somesing  uneasy  is  better." 

"  Didn't  wake  up  till  daylight." 

"  Where  was  you  then,  Sef?  " 

"  In  the  cheer—  Sal  —  Sally's  cheer." 

The  words  stuck  pitifully  in  his  throat. 

"  Yas  —  "  said  the  old  man,  looking  away, 
"  I  don't  blame  you,  Sef." 

"  It  was  a  pasteboard  thing  —  like  a  tomb- 
stone —  pinned  on  my  bosom " 

58 


SEFK5S 

"  Vat !  "  cried  his  father  —  the  "  w  "  would 
become  "  v  "  in  cases  of  sudden  emotion. 

"  Pasteboard  —  tombstone !  "  Seffy's  head 
drooped  in  shame.  "With  things  printed  on 
it  — '  Sephenijah  P.  Baumgartner,  Junior, 
Went  to  His  Rest,  June  10th,  1871,  in  the 
20th  year  of  his  age.  Gone  Not,  But  Forgot 
—  Read  Backwards.' " 

His  father  stifled  a  laugh.  It  was  an  old 
trick  to  him. 

"What  — what  did  you  do  then?"  he 
asked  in  as  matter-of-fact  a  voice  as  he  could 
command. 

"  Sneaked  home.     It  was  daylight !" 

"  Gone  not,  but  forgot  —  read  backwards, 
hah?" 

He  couldn't  quite  make  it  out.  That  was 
new.  Seffy  helped  him. 

"  Forgot,  but  not  gone." 

There  was  no  restraint  to  his  father's 
laughter  now.  After  it  had  subsided  he 
asked: 

"What  did  you  do  wiss  the  tombstone?" 

59 


SEFK5S 

«  Left  it  there." 

"That's  bad,  Seffy.  He'll  put  it  up  at 
the  store  an'  you  ken  nefer  go  there  no  more." 

Seffy's  look  of  horror  was  a  reminder  to 
his  father  that  it  would  have  been  better  not 
to  say  that.  But  Old  Baumgartner  had  tre- 
mendous aplomb. 

"  Nefer  mind  —  nefer  mind.  Mebby  he 
won't  sink  of  that,"  —  though  he  knew  the 
store-clerk  would  be  certain  to  think  of  it. 

Upon  a  sudden  thought  the  old  man  leaped 
up. 

"  And  where  was  Sam  ?  Say !  When  you 
woke  up  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  But  —  he  wasn't  there  —  at  Sally's?  " 

"  No,"  said  Seffy  hopelessly. 

His  father  clutched  his  shoulder  and  set 
him  on  his  feet. 

"Well  — you  dam'  little  idjiot  — aha  — 
ha-ha  —  don't  you  see  that  you  did  set  him 
out  —  say!  Why,  you're  a  winner,  Seffy ! 
I'm  proud  of  you !  " 


SEFEpfl 

Seffy  started  and  looked  a  little  less  inert. 
His  father  laughed  hugely. 

"I  knowed  you'd  do  it!  Aha  — ha-ha! 
Nobody  ken  beat  a  Baumgartner  courting  a 
gal !  What's  sleeping  —  if  you  stayed !  Huh ! 
You  stayed  tell  daylight !  Sef  —  I'm  laugh- 
ing !  Why,  I  used  to  sleep  when  I  set  up  wiss 
you'  mammy  efery  time  another  feller  was 
there.  I  done  it  a-purpose!  And  she'd  wake 
me  up  when  the  other  feller  was  gone  and  it 
came  time  for  me  to  go.  Why  —  say  —  I 
stayed  and  slept  all  night  —  tell  broad  day- 
light and  go  home  wiss  the  cows  in  the  morn- 
ing —  many  a  time !  Yassir !  Chust  like  you, 
Sef !  Sef,  you're  all  right.  Goshens,  but  you 
had  a  narrow  excape,  though !  Chust  suppose 
you'd  'a'  woke  up  and  forgot  what  you  was 
up  to  —  you  do  that,  sometimes,  Sef,  when 
you're  dreamy  —  and  gone  home  before  you 
remembered  that  you  was  out-setting  him! 
He'd  'a'  had  you  dead,  Seffy,  dead  and  buried 
in  the  family  lot.  But  you  got  him,  Seffy, 
ol*  boy  —  and  Sally,  too,  begoshens !  Shall 

61 


we  get  at  the  fence  to-day?"  Seffy  did  not 
respond.  And  his  father  knew  better  than 
most  of  us  where  suggestion  should  stop. 

"  AU  right.  We  bose  busy  to-day.  Meb- 
by  we  better  let  it  be  tell  to-morrow." 

Of  course  Old  Baumgartner  was  well  aware 
that  his  logic  would  not  bear  the  least  scru- 
tiny. And  he  regarded  Seffy  anxiously  as 
he  raced  through  it.  But  dull  happy  Seffy 
saw  no  flaws  in  it.  He  agreed  with  his  father 
that  he  had  out-sat  Sam.  And,  if  it  had  not 
been  too  plainly  accidental,  he  would  have 
adopted  the  fancy  that  he  had  had  a  heroic 
purpose  in  it  —  so  convincing  was  his  father's 
logic  to  his  little  mind. 

The  old  man  rattled  on.  SefFy  must  not 
think  much. 

"  And  snoring !  Hah !  Nossing  —  nossing 
at  all!  I  could  gife  you  lessons  in  snoring. 
And  you'  mammy  use'  to  say  that  she  liked  it. 
It  wasn't  so  lonely  and  she  knowed  I  was  on 
deck  and  alife.  Snoring !  Aha  —  ha-ha ! 
What's  that  —  if  you  are  sure  of  the  gal !  " 


Seffy  ahemmed  several  times  and  looked  less 
like  a  condemned  malefactor — though  still 
far  from  suborned. 

"  That  dam*  molasses-tapper  —  he's  got  to 
be  licked  —  and  if  I  got  to  do  it  myself  — 
though  I  ain't  much  of  a  licker.  The  whole 
county'll  know  about  that  —  to  —  to  —  " 
he  turned  away  to  smile  —  "  tombstone.  I 
bet  he's  got  it  hanging  up  in  the  store  now! 
We  got  to  let  'em  know  that  you  set  him  out, 
Sef!  Yas  —  stayed  tell  daylight!  Woke  up 
and  stayed !  Sleeping  was  chust  to  ketch  him ! 
You  was  awake  all  the  time!  Lie  a  little, 
hah?" 

His  father  was  proud  of  this  last.  As  they 
drew  apart  he  called  back : 

"  If  she  don't  like  snoring,  Sef,  wear  a 
clothes-pin  when  you  set  up  wiss  her  —  one 
of  them  wiss  a  spring  —  not?  Aha  —  ha- 
ha!"  And  then:  "You  all  right,  Sef  — 
yassir !  you  all  right  —  you  the  conquering 
hero  comes !  Go  right  back  —  mebby  to-night 
—  you  entitled  to  do  it." 

63 


"  Begoshens,  I  will ! "  said  Seffy  in  his 
father's  own  slogan. 

Seffy  would  have  pressed  his  suit  even  with- 
out this,  I  think  —  because  of  those  moments 
in  the  dark  parlor.  One  does  not  soon  forget 
that  sort  of  thing. 

"  Now,"  advised  his  father,  "  you  know 
well  enough  what  kind  of  a  temper  goes  wiss 
red  hair  —  I  use  to  haf  hair  enough  onct  — 
and  it  was  red!  All  right  when  it's  on  your 
side.  But  hell  when  it's  ag'in'  you.  Them 
red-heads  always  regrets  —  I  do  and  she  does ! 
Say  —  Sef  —  Seffy,  don't  you  let  her  regret 
in  vain  —  ketch  her  while  she's  at  it." 

So,  Seffy  went  up  the  hill  again  —  not  that 
night  —  which  was  a  mistake  —  he  could  not 
quite  bring  himself  to  that  —  but  the  next. 
And  he  had  washed  the  grease  out  of  his  hair 
and  left  the  hat  at  home  as  well  as  the  butter- 
fly tie  and  the  boots  and,  if  I  do  say  it,  he  was 
a  very  handsome  fellow,  worth  at  least  a 
dozen  of  his  rival. 

But  Sally,  watching  for  this  very  thing, 

64 


saw  him  coming  and  hardened  her  heart,  as 
Pharaoh  did  in  the  face  of  proffered  felicity, 
and,  by  a  good  deal  of  forcible  instruction,  she 
succeeded  in  getting  the  little  maid  to  say  that 
she  was  not  at  home.  The  maid's  untutored 
face  showed  Seffy  that  she  was  not  telling  the 
truth,  however,  and  she  was  not  sorry  for  it. 
She  would  never  have  treated  Seffy  so ! 

Seffy  shifted  his  hat  from  one  hand  to  the 
other  and  then  said: 

"  Tell  her  —  tell  her  —  when  she  comes 
home  —  that  Fm  sorry  — "  He  did  not 
exactly  know  what  he  was  sorry  for,  and  so 
said  good  night  and  went. 

"  He  knowed  you  was  at  home ! "  re- 
proached the  little  maid.  "  He  was  sorry  for 
you." 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  demanded  Sally  sav- 
agely. 

"To  tell  you  that  he  was  sorry  —  when 
you  got  home." 

"When  I  got  home?  Then  I  better  stay 
away,  I  expect.  That's  what  he  meant,  did 

65 


he?  Well,  Til  show  him!"  But  the  maid 
understood  Seffy's  rustic  chivalry  and  she  did 
not  laugh  with  her  mistress. 

Yet,  Sally  went  back  to  her  window  and 
again  watched,  hoping  Seffy  would  look  back. 
She  was  not  quite  sure  what  she  would  do. 
Perhaps  she  would  get  angry  —  perhaps  — 
But  if  he  would  only  look!  He  did  not,  and 
Sally  understood  that  he  had  accepted  his 
conge  as  she  had  given  it.  And  quite  as  the 
old  man  had  said,  she  did  regret,  now,  and 
she  had  regretted  that  other  night.  But 
there  was  more  penance  than  he  had  said  or 
thought.  Yet  —  there  was  the  Pressel  tem- 
per! And  it  did  not  await  the  subsidence  of 
the  sorrow,  but  rose  at  once.  What  business 
had  he  tamely  to  accept  the  situation? 

I  am  satisfied  that  there  is  some  connection 
between  red  hair  and  temper.  And  I  am, 
further,  satisfied  that  there  is  even  more  be- 
tween the  associated  ideas  of  red  hair,  temper 
and  regret.  But  my  difficulty  is  to  determine 
just  where  each  stands.  Logically,  the  regret 

66 


ought  to  come  last.  But,  to  Sally,  and  in 
this  case,  it  came  in  the  middle.  For,  she 
began  and  she  ended  without  it,  but  she  dis- 
tinctly remembered  having  had  it.  There- 
fore, it  must  have  been  in  the  middle. 

And  Sam  administered  Seffy's  coup  de 
grace!  Perhaps  it  was  accidental.  But  I 
think  it  must  have  been  nothing  less  than 
spying  and  then  devilish  invention  —  it  was 
so  entirely  apropos. 

As  Seffy  descended  the  Hill  of  Delight  on 
which  Sally's  pretty  little  house  stood,  Sam 
ascended  it,  singing,  as  he  passed  Seffy : 

"  Napoleon,  with  a  thousand  men, 
Marched  up  the  hill  and  down  again." 

From  his  own  darkness,  SefFy  saw  a  golden 
shaft  of  light  burst  from  the  door  at  the  top 
of  the  Hill  of  Delight,  and,  in  it,  he  saw 
Sam  mount  to  where  was  his  heart's  desire. 


VII 

THE    POISON-SPRING    IN    THE    COTTON     WOODS 

They  met  on  the  damp  country  road  one 
evening  —  Sally  and  the  old  man  —  two 
weeks  later.  She  was  walking  with  drooping 
head,  and,  when  she  suddenly  raised  it,  as  he 
ahemmed,  he  was  quite  sure  that  she  had  been 
crying. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  wiss 
him!"  said  Seffy's  father,  as  if  they  had 
been  discussing  Seffy. 

"Who?"  asked  the  girl  tremulously  — 
though  she  knew  —  "  he  ain't  sick  ?  " 

"  Sef  —  Seffy  —  my  Seffy.  No  —  not  ex- 
actly —  not  to  say  sick.  I  like  him  so  — 
he's  all  I  got  —  and  it's  somesing  wrong  wiss 
Hm.  He  can't  live  long  this  way.  Efery 
night  he's  down  by  the  Poison-Spring  —  wiss 


91 

the  witches  —  often  all  night.  He's  there 
now.  I  chust  kem  away  —  trying  to  cheer 
him  up  a  little.  Well,  so  good  night." 

He  passed  on,  for  he  was  a  merciful  old 
man,  and  Sally  hurried  away  to  the  Poison- 
Spring.  And  Old  Baumgartner  laughed 
through  his  gnarled  hands  behind  the  cover 
of  the  next  turn  in  the  road,  though  even  to 
him  laughter  was  no  more  gay,  as  of  yore. 

Seffy  was  there,  on  his  back,  with  his 
hands  under  his  head,  staring  up  at  the 
moon.  He  looked  pitifully  alone.  A  great 
lump  surged  in  Sally's  throat,  and  if  she  had 
obeyed  only  her  heart  she  would  have  flung 
her  arms  around  him.  But  another  of  those 
qualities  which  go  with  red  hair,  pride,  pre- 
vented this.  She  coughed  a  little  and  Seffy 
flew  around. 

"  I  —  was  just  taking  a  walk,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Seffy  humbly. 

"  The  Poison-Spring  is  —  on  my  prop- 
erty  " 

"I'll  go  away!"  said  Seffy,  rising.     He 

69 


looked  gaunt  as  he  stood  on  his  feet  in  the 
moonlight. 

"  Seffy  —  I  didn't  mean  —  "  began  the 
really  unhappy  girl,  her  head  quite  giving 
way  to  her  heart  now. 

"  I  got  nowheres  else  to  go  now,"  excused 
Seffy.  "  I  can't  go  to  the  store  —  Sam's  got 
the  tombstone  there  —  or  anywhere  where 
there's  people  —  account  everybody  knows. 
Sam's  got  a  notice  of  it  hung  up  in  the  store. 
It's  all  they  talk  about.  He  got  it  printed  in 
the  paper,  too!  I'd  go  away,  out  West,  but 
pappy  don't  want  me  to  go.  I  come  here, 
account  no  one  else  ever  comes  —  it's  unheal- 
thy. I  didn't  know  that  you  owned " 

He  was  shambling  off.  The  last  words  came 
from  a  distance.  "  Good  night." 

He  did  not  know  that  Sally  was  following 
him.  When  she  spoke  it  was  close  behind 
him.  He  veered  so  suddenly  as  to  catch  the 
pain  on  her  face.  But  he  was  dull,  Seffy. 

"  Seffy,"  she  said,  close  upon  him,  "  Seffy, 
I  was  at  home." 

70 


SefFy  said  nothing. 

"  Seffy  —  I  am  unhappy  —  and  a  fool ! " 

Still  Seffy  did  not  move  nor  speak. 

"  Don't  you  care  that  I  am  unhappy  ?  " 

Still  silence. 

"  And  don't  you  never  forgive  no  one  ?  " 

At  the  end  was  a  sob. 

Ah!  Seffy  could  not  harbor  ill  against  a 
dog  that  had  bit  him.  And  Sally  sobbed. 
The  hands  he  had  kissed  before,  he  kissed 
again  —  in  that  fashion,  you  will  remember, 
which  must  have  survived  from  some  cavalier 
ancestor. 

"  Seffy,"  she  said  a  little  later,  "  you  know 
I  got  an  awful  temper?" 

"  Pappy  says  so,"  sighed  Seffy. 

"  He's  right,  and  you  know!  But,  Seffy 
—  you  can  help  me  to  cure  it  —  will  you  ?  " 

Joy  leaped  back  into  her  life  and  it  was 
very  sweet.  And  would  he?  He  left  her  no 
doubt  —  not  the  least.  She  hovered  about 
him  bewitchingly.  What  the  peering  moon 
saw  —  I  shall  not  tell.  And  when  the  watch- 

71 


ful  old  man  saw  them  coming  out  of  the  Cot- 
ton Woods  together  he  went  singing  home  and 
slept. 

Oh,  it  was  not  entirely  the  pasture-field 
now.  He  did  not  forget  that.  But  Seffy, 
whom  he  adored  —  perhaps  for  the  very  gen- 
tleness and  sweetness  which  constantly  van- 
quished his  happiness  —  Seffy  was  going 
away  from  happiness  which  sought  him  — 
and,  for  this  farmer,  and  this  time  and  place, 
where  was  little  joy  and  much  labor,  it 
seemed  wanton  —  it  was  wanton !  Do  you 
think  it  was  a  slight  thing  that  kept  Sepheni- 
jah  P.  Baumgartner,  Senior,  awake  for  five 
nights?  For,  let  me  tell  you  here,  all  this  had 
become  serious  business  to  the  old  man  —  if 
we  do  treat  it  lightly.  For  he  loved  his  son 
—  adored  Sally  —  and  valued  the  pasture- 
field.  Therefore,  in  striving  to  bring  them 
all  into  his  keeping  together,  he  was  dealing 
with  the  things  (little  things  to  you)  he  loved 
most  on  earth.  You,  of  course,  have  greater 
things.  But  you  must,  now  and  then,  try  to 

72 


feel  the  imperiousness  of  small  things  in  small 
lives. 

I  shall  tell  you  of  their  conversation  as  they 
came  from  the  Poison-Spring,  the  radiance 
of  the  moon  in  Seffy's  wan  face,  the  very  joy 
of  the  starry  heavens  in  that  of  the  girl  —  I 
must  tell  you  what  their  talk  was  of.  And  I 
beg  you  again  to  remember  that  these 
small  things,  which  you  despise,  were  all  they 
had  there  and  then.  I  have  wondered 
whether  the  wanton  sacrifice  of  a  child's  toy 
when  he  is  three  is  not  as  dreadful  as  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  love  when  he  is  twenty.  Do  you 
know  ? 

"  Seffy,"  said  Sally,  with  his  hand  held  ,«o 
close  under  her  beating  heart  that  it  regis- 
tered each  avid  pulsation,  "  I  am  most  to 
blame  and  you  have  forgiven  me.  But  you 
are  to  blame,  too,  and  I  hope  you  won't  for- 
give yourself  too  soon." 

"For  why?  "  queried  the  dull  Seffy,  wi:h 
attention  only  for  that  wildly  beating  thing 
—  for,  alas,  that  was  his  bane  as  hers  was 

73 


something  else  —  forgetting  future  perils  in 
present  happiness. 

"  Then  you'll  fix  it  before  you  do!  " 

"Fix  what?"  asked  the  astonished  Seffy. 

"You  let  yourself  be  fooled.  And  that 
raises  my  temper  more  than  anything  else.  T 
don't  want  no  beau  that  every  one  laughs  at. 
You  got  to  have  more  backbone.  When  I  am 
mean  to  you  —  I  can't  help  it  when  my  tem- 
per's up  —  and  it's  hard  to  get  it  down, 
mighty  hard,  when  it's  up  —  when  I  am  mean 
to  you  —  curse  me !  " 

Seffy  stared  aghast.  He  would  as  soon 
have  heaped  maledictions  upon  the  head  of  an 
archangel ! 

"Or  hit  me!" 

Another  stare  —  another  conviction  of  the 
utter  impossibility  of  such  a  thing! 

"  Yes !  With  a  club !  A  flat-iron !  A  potato- 
masher  !  A  poker ! " 

Seffy  could  laugh  now.  She  was  becom- 
ing absurd.  Had  he  only  known  that  she  — 
poor  futile  woman !  —  was  trying  to  secure 

74 


SEFEpfl 

in  advance  their  happiness  in  the  turmoil 
which  she  knew  would  come! 

"  Yes !  That  is  the  way  for  such  as  me ! 
The  only  way!  And  I'm  used  to  it!" 

Now  Seffy  was  shocked! 

"  My  father  —  or  mother  —  or  granny  — 
or,"  —  she  hesitated  —  "  Sam  —  have,  at  one 
time  or  another,  used  all  these  things  on  me. 
I  need  the  snaffle !  You  need  the  whip ! " 

And  she  laughed  a  little  herself  and  that 
was  Seffy's  excuse  for  joining  her. 

"  You  have  no  temper  and  I  have  a  thou- 
sand times  too  much.  You  can  see  how  that 
will  work.  And,  Seffy,  you  got  a  bad  repu- 
tation about  here  now,  and  I  wouldn't  like 
you  to  have  it  always.  So  you  must  brace  up 
and  do  things  to  make  the  people  like  you 
again.  I  want  you  to  be  able  to  face  any 
one  at  the  store  —  and  do  it  in  front  of  Sam." 

The  dull  Seffy  answered: 

"But  what  can  I  do?" 

The  whole  case  seemed  quite  hopeless. 

"I  don't  know.     But  there  is  something. 

75 


SEFEpfl 

Ask  your  pappy.  Whatever  it  is,  I  will  help 
you.  You  know  it  makes  me  foolish,  too. 
And  I  hate  that  more  than  anything  —  being 
laughed  at.  If  I  was  you,  I'd  lick  Sam. 
But  I  know  you  won't.  I  expect  he's  too  big 
for  you.  But  there  are  other  things." 

And  Seffy  left  her  at  her  door  that  night, 
determined  to  do  some  great  thing  to  set  him- 
self properly  before  the  little  community  once 
more.  Because  —  once  more  —  she  had  let 
him  kiss  her. 

He  and  his  father  held  a  star-chamber  ses- 
sion that  night  yet  —  Seffy  waking  him  up 
for  it. 

"  Take  her  home  from  church,  begoshens !  " 
adjudged  his  father. 

Now  this  seems  small  advice  upon  a  small 
matter.  But  it  was  very  great  advice  upon 
a  very  great  matter,  as  you  will  see. 


VIII 

THE    WHITE    SIGNAL    WHICH    MIGHT    AS    WELL 
HAVE  BEEN   BLACK 

No  suitor  in  German-Pennsylvania,  though 
it  be  in  Maryland,  has  entirely  estab- 
lished his  right  to  the  maiden  of  his 
choice,  either  before  the  public  or  in  her 
sight  or  his  own,  until  he  has  escorted  her  off-- 
hand from  church  on  a  Sunday  night.  And 
this  he  must  accomplish  at  the  church  door, 
out  of  —  sometimes  —  a  savage  rivalry  chal- 
lenging disaster. 

For  by  this  simple,  primitive,  heroic  pro- 
cess the  status  of  contestants  for  a  maid's 
favor  is  fixed.  He  whose  arm  is  taken 
can  face  his  little  world  on  Monday. 
He  whose  arm  is  rejected  is,  on  Mon- 
day, a  social  exile.  For  the  small  world 

77 


of  the  vicinage  is  always  there  and  this  is  the 
maiden's  public  election  of  him  she  chooses  to 
honor,  and  her  public  rebuke  to  his  too  pre- 
sumptuous rival.  And,  after  that,  she  is  a 
poor  thing  indeed  who  will  be  seen  in  public 
with  the  latter.  For  nothing  is  more  sweet 
and  cruel  than  love. 

Seffy  was  not  a  publicly-acknowledged 
suitor.  He  could  not  be.  It  was  impossible ! 
There  was  that  tombstone  still  up  in  the  store. 
Sam  had  not  yet  been  dislodged.  And  Seffy 
had  not  yet  arrived  where  he  might  put  the 
awful  question  —  there  was  a  recognized 
period  for  this,  and  events  had  put  it  further 
and  further  off!  Indeed,  he  shuddered  when 
he  thought  of  it  —  even  then,  after  that  un- 
derstanding with  Sally !  —  and  contemplated 
getting  his  father  to  do  it  for  him. 

It  had  become  known,  in  the  wireless  way 
such  things  spread  in  the  country,  that  there 
had  been  a  tentative  making-up  between  Seffy 
and  Sally.  But  Seffy  was  still  not  received 
in  public.  Nor  did  he  appear  with  Sally! 

78 


SEFEOfi 


Nor  might  he  call  upon  her !  There  must  be 
some  open  defiance  and  victory  which  all  could 
see  and  understand  before  these  things  might 
happen.  The  right  hand  of  renewed  fellow- 
ship would  not  be  extended  to  Seffy  until  he 
had  met  and  vanquished  his  rival  in  public. 
It  was  the  primitive  right  of  the  strongest, 
proved  physically  here  as  in  the  Roman  circus. 
Seffy  had  never  shown  himself  a  master  of 
material  prowess.  He  demurred  a  bit  at  such 
a  plunge  into  the  arena.  But  there  was  no 
other  way. 

"Why,  Sef,"  advised  his  father,  "after 
that  it's  a  dead  open  and  shut  game.  You 
better  do  the  biggest  sing  you  ken  —  and 
that's  the  end  of  it.  If  I  had  Sally  on  my 
side,  I  wouldn't  keer  who  the  hell  was  on  the 
other!  You  take  her  home  from  church! 
Yas,  right  afore  their  dam*  noses!  Then 
they'll  run  after  you  and  send  you  presents. 
It  ain't  no  guess-work  for  you!  You  know 
that  Sally  will  be  waiting  for  you  wiss  her 
arm  all  ready  to  take  yourn.  Gosh!  I 

79 


5EFK5S 

nefer  had  no  such  sure  sing.  I  had  to  take 
my  chances  wiss  you'  mammy!  And  it  was 
three  other  fellers  wiss  their  arms  out  —  and 
the  right  side  yet !  But  your  daddy  was  close 
up  against  the  church  door.  And  when  she 
come  out  he  didn't  waste  no  time  a-saying 
polite,  *  Miss  Hengler,  ken  I  haf  the  pleasure 
to  see  you  home  this  evening? '  I'd  V  lost 
the  game  if  I  had  waited  to  git  off  all  that 
dictionary  stuff!  Yassir!  For  right  oppo- 
site me  was  Bill  Eisenkrout  —  Sam's  uncle  — 
and- 1  knowed  his  arm'd  shoot  out  like  a  patent 
corn-husker  the  minute  you'  mammy  come. 
"  He  was  mighty  quick,  but  mighty  polite ! 
I  knowed  he'd  say  that  foolishness  about  being 
pleased  to  see  her  home.  Well,  she  come  out 
and  I  chust  grabbed.  And  while  I  was  march- 
ing on  like  a  conquering  hero,  informing  her 
that  it  was  a  nice  efening,  I  could  hear  Bill  on 
the  off  side,  gitting  out  that  stuff  'bout  pleas- 
ure and  seeing  her  home.  Nancy  says,  says 
she :  '  Sank  you,  Mr.  Eisenkrout,  I'm  suited ; ' 
and  I  laughed  like  hell!  And,  begoshens, 

80 


SEFR5S 

Nancy  laughed  too!  And  that  settled  Bill  for 
efer  more !  Oh,  it's  nossing  like  a  laugh  at  the 
right  time  to  kill  a  man  off !  Bill  left  town 
the  next  day.  He  had  to.  And  he  didn't 
show  up  tell  the  next  fall!  Sef,  you  got  a 
sure  sing.  And,  begoshens,  you  might  just 
as  well  finish  Sam  up  in  the  same  job  —  put 
him  out  of  town.  Next  Sunday  you  watch 
Sam.  Keep  right  opposite  him.  Then  git 
your  arm  in  action  about  a  second  sooner. 
Left  side,  you  know,  her  right!  Sally  '11  be 
on  the  lookout.  Don't  stop  to  say  any  fool 
sings  about  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  home. 
Do  it.  And,  when  Sam  gits  his  work  in, 
laugh!  Laugh  like  a  bull!  And  git  Sally 
to  laugh.  I  bet  you  two  dollars  and  ten 
cents  that  Sam  won't  be  in  town  the  next 
day!" 

Like  a  campaign  speech  was  the  effect  of 
this! 

Seffy  objected  no  longer.  He  said  he 
would  do  it  all!  Perhaps  this,  too,  got 
about.  At  all  events,  before  the  next  Sunday, 

81 


the  interest  created  by  their  rivalry  was  more 
than  equal  to  the  voice  of  the  Gospel.  All  the 
township  would  be  at  church! 

Sam  would  not  be  dislodged.  He  invented 
the  most  diabolical  schemes  for  sequestrating 
Sally  to  himself  during  the  week  which  fol- 
lowed —  into  which  guileless  Sally  often  fell 
—  and  which  seemed  to  proclaim  her  suitor  to 
be  himself.  Sam,  you  will  remember,  had  ac- 
cess to  Sally,  but  Seffy  had  not.  Seffy  con- 
fessed that  this  looked  sinister.  True,  he  re- 
membered all  that  had  passed  between  them. 
But  once  before  he  had  been  in  error. 

So  that  Seffy,  before  the  week's  end,  began 
once  more  —  and  more  strongly  —  to  dep- 
recate the  necessity  for  this  public  demonstra- 
tion of  his  status.  His  father  demanded  it 
as  a  diplomatic  necessity,  inasmuch  as  Sally 
still  retained  Sam  on  a  basis  so  much  like  his 
own  as  to  make  the  situation  extremely  em- 
barrassing to  even  Old  Baumgartner,  who  had 
let  it  be  known  that  he  was  the  active  coadju- 
tor of  his  son.  To  vanquish  Seffy  was  to  van- 

82 


SEf  K5fl 

quish  him,  and  he,  if  not  Seffy  himself, 
screwed  Seffy's  courage  to  the  sticking  point. 
After  this,  Seffy  weakened  no  more,  but  pro- 
claimed his  purpose.  It  was  generally  con- 
ceded that  the  one  who  failed  now  would  have 
to  leave  town. 

So  here  was  retiring  little  Seffy  forced  by 
circumstances  into  a  public  rivalry  which  he 
detested,  and,  it  may  as  well  be  confessed  — 
feared.  It  must,  also,  be  explained  that  Sal- 
ly's course  in  maintaining  these  two  strings  to 
her  bow  until  the  breaking  moment  was  not 
only  universally  commended,  but  was  the  un- 
swerving custom  of  the  vicinage  for  girls  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  two  strings.  It  was  held 
likely  to  force  one  or  the  other  to  the  point, 
—  and  this  was  the  purpose  of  rustic  co- 
quetry !  And  Sally's  coquetry  was  not  only 
acknowledged ;  it  was  tolerated,  and,  I  fear, 
encouraged.  And,  alas,  it  had  been  as  sweet 
to  her  as  vinous  dissipation  to  men.  But 
now  it  had  made  not  only  her  own,  but  Seffy's, 
position  tremendously  more  difficult. 


IX 

IT  WAS  SEFFY  WHO   WAS  "  SACKED  " 

So  they  three  went  to  church  on  a  certain 
Sunday.  Sally  sat  on  the  "  women's  side  " 
and  Seffy  and  Sam  on  the  "men's  side"  in 
full  view  of  the  "  audience  " —  which  per- 
ceived and  understood  and  was  ready  at  the 
proper  time  to  applaud,  from  the  preacher  to 
the  sexton  —  to  raise  or  lower  its  thumbs 
upon  the  combatants. 

When  the  benediction  had  been  said  Seffy 
hastened  out  and  found  himself  a  place  — 
close  to  the  door,  according  to  his  father's 
word  —  in  one  of  the  lines  of  young  men 
which  stretched  on  either  side  of  the  path 
from  the  church  door  to  the  road  beyond, 
at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  But  he  did  not 
see  Sam.  Some  one  pushed  in  front  of  him. 

34 


And,  instead  of  combating  for  his  position, 
he  yielded  it  and  found  one  further  down, 
still  seeking  the  location  of  his  rival.  He  was 
crowded  from  this  one,  too,  and  he  let  it  go 
and  sought  another  one  because  he  had  not 
seen  Sam.  And  it  was  necessary  to  his 
father's  scheme,  he  remembered,  that  Sam  and 
he  should  be  about  opposite.  Of  course,  all 
this  was  error.  His  place  was  right  by  the 
church  door.  That  was  where  Sally  had  a 
right  to  expect  to  find  him.  It  had  be- 
come a  public  matter,  too.  The  public  had 
its  rights.  It  expected  him  there,  even  if  he 
had  to  shed  the  blood  of  noses  to  stay  there. 
This  had  often  happened.  But  he  was  be- 
wildered in  the  contradictory  courses  advised 
by  his  father,  and,  finally,  seeking  that  which 
seemed  best,  found  that  which  was  worst. 
Dull  Seffy ! 

He  at  last  discovered  Sam  and  found  a 
lodgment  for  himself  opposite  and  away  down 
near  the  gate,  where  only  the  married  men 
were  —  such  as  still  waited  for  their  wives  — 

85 


SEFFSffl 


who  amiably  smoked  until  they  came  along. 
No  unmarried  maiden  ever  expects  to  be 
matched  there.  And,  had  Seffy  been  as  wise 
as  he  was  not,  he  would  not  have  halted 
there.  But  he  was  deluded  by  Sam.  There 
he  was  in  the  opposite  line,  the  wrong  one,  in- 
differently chatting,  and  even  smoking,  with 
Hilary  Groff  —  a  married  man.  Seffy  was 
now  so  sure  of  his  conquest,  that  Sam's 
indifference  vexed  him.  Evidently  he  did 
not  mean  to  contend  with  him  for  Sally's 
arm,  and  it  was  to  be  a  cheap  and  bloodless 
victory.  For  Seffy  was  one  of  those  who 
grow  brave  as  opposition  diminishes. 

And  now  they  were  slowly  coming  down  — 
the  maidens  running  the  gantlet  of  love. 
One  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five  —  a  dozen 
happy  matings  were  made.  Seffy  was  count- 
ing. One  poor  chap  was  "  sacked."  He 
crushed  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  charged  back 
through  the  lines  and  across  the  fields  —  no 
matter  where.  And  then  came  Sally !  —  in  a 
trim  little  hat  with  a  fluttering  ribbon  that 

86 


SEFR5S 

looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  white  signal, 
bearing  straight  down  upon  him!  But  there 
was  something  in  her  eyes  —  expectant  — 
militant  —  that  made  them  starry!  On  she 
came,  with  her  head  in  the  air  —  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  as  if  she 
expected  to  walk  home  alone,  nearly  three 
miles ! 

"  Oh,  no ! "  thought  Seffy  —  and  Sam. 

But  a  bit  of  terror  smote  her  face  pale 
when  she  had  passed  the  door  —  alone  —  and 
showed  more  and  more  as  she  went  on.  Some 
one  laughed  —  then  there  was  an  unmistak- 
able titter  along  the  line.  Still  Sally  passed 
on,  keeping  her  temper  as  never  before. 
Was  not  the  old  man  right  about  the  effect  of 
laughter? 

But  now  the  temper  loosed  itself  slowly, — 
her  face  was  scarlet.  She  had  nearly  reached 
the  married  men.  Some  one  whispered: 

"  Gosh !  He's  gitting  even  by  sacking 
her!  " 

This  was  repeated.     There  was  more  laugh- 

87 


ter  and  more  tittering.  The  crowd  deserted 
the  lines  nearest  the  church  and  followed  Sal- 
ly down  on  either  side  in  huge  tumultuous 
phalanxes  to  see  what  would  happen, —  if  it 
were  possible  that  she  would  have  to  go  home 
alone.  Several  young  men  who  had  never 
dared  to  approach  her  began  to  think  of  it. 
They  knew  that  rather  than  not  be  taken 
at  all  she  would  take  any  one  of  them! 
There  was  more  tumult  now  than  laughter. 
And  Sally's  face  grew  so  white  that  her  eyes 
blazed  like  stars  in  the  midst  of  it. 

Seffy  quailed.  He  recognized  the  temper 
—  only  he  had  never  seen  it  as  terrible  as 
this.  He  had  forgotten  Sam.  It  was  only 
Sally  he  saw,  as  one  sees  with  fear-stalled 
nerves  the  locomotive  as  it  leaps  upon  him. 

And  the  onlookers,  crowding  at  the  sides, 
thought  it  a  great  and  terrible  hand  to  hand 
battle  —  to  wait  that  way  till  the  last  mo- 
ment and  then  to  spring  like  tigers  —  or  a 
piece  of  tremendous  foolishness. 

"  Both  of  you  must  be  absolute  sure,"  said 

88 


SEFFOfl 

Hilary  GrofF  to  Sam,  "or  absolute  fools! 
Ain't  you  got  no  pity  on  the  girl?  " 

"  Shut  up ! "  answered  Sam,  "  and  watch. 
I'm  calculating  on  him  leaving  town  to-mor- 
row. That  is  my  game.  And  I'm  playing 
for  the  pot." 

You  see  that  Sam  had  not  forgotten  Seffy 
for  a  moment,  even  if  Seffy  had  forgotten 
him.  He  stepped  noiselessly  three  paces 
toward  Sally,  crossed  in  front  of  Seffy  and 
took  her  arm.  There  was  a  laugh  almost 
ribald.  Seffy  could  not  see  clearly —  he 
could,  least  of  all,  think  clearly  —  he  did  not 
know  what  had  happened.  He  saw  only 
the  little  white  signal  before  him  and  blindly 
put  out  his  arm. 

It  did  not  reach  Sally  at  all,  but  Sam,  who 
turned  and  said  with  an  imitation  of  girlish 
politeness : 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Baumgartner,  I'm 
suited." 

And,  Sally,  her  face  flaming  with  ven- 
geance, took  the  trouble  to  turn  back  and  cry 


—  not  into  his  ear,  but  into  his  very  heart: 
"  Thank  you,  I'm  suited." 

There  are  some  people  to  whom  no  punish- 
ment seems  sufficient,  while  any  remains  to  be 
administered.  One  of  the  onlookers  was  of 
such  a  sort.  He  cried  out  as  poor  Seffy  slunk 
away: 

"  Give  her  back  her  dollar ! " 

And  another: 

"  Or  ninety-nine  cents,  anyhow !  " 

Seffy  quailed  and  drew  back  from  the  line 

—  it  was  the  instant  that  makes  or  mars  — 
and  he  had  lost.     He  might  still  have  knocked 
Sam  down  and  won  —  this  would  have  been 
perfectly  proper  —  but  he  followed  the  man 
who  had  but  a  moment  before  crushed  through 
the  line,  and  wild  jeers  followed  him. 


90 


THE    HUGE    FIST   OF   THE    FARMER 

From  that  day  Seffy  avoided  all  public 
places  —  and  all  men.  He  was  nobody  — 
nothing.  He  fell  rapidly  into  that  kind  of 
disrepute  which  is  common  to  persons  with 
failing  reputations.  It  was  to  his  discredit 
that  he  did  not  leave  town,  but  this  his  father 
prevented.  Again  he  took  to  the  Cotton 
Woods  and  the  Poison-Spring,  with,  perhaps, 
the  dim  hope  that  Sally  might  again  find  him 
there,  and  that  the  peeping  moon  might  again 
interfere  on  his  behalf. 

But  the  moon  went  through  all  her  phases 
and  then  slowly  turned  her  back  on  him  — 
and  Sally  never  came.  In  their  casual  meet- 
ings she  was  ice.  Once  they  passed  on  the 
road  to  the  store.  She  was  in  precisely  the 

91 


SEr  KX1 

dear  garments  he  remembered  so  well  —  of 
that  first  day  —  and  as  gay  as  then.  He 
trembled,  and  then  looked  up  like  a  mortally- 
wounded  animal.  She  was  looking  calmly 
over  his  head.  To  the  rest  of  the  world  she 
was  gayer  than  ever,  though  that  Sunday- 
night  laugh  still  echoed  in  her  head  —  kept 
her  maddened.  After  all,  it  wasn't  worth 
while  to  care  for  even  Seffy  with  such  a  little 
spirit.  Why  didn't  he  fight  —  kill  Sam  or 
somebody?  And  the  cunning  Sam  set  the 
story  more  widely  going  that  for  revenge 
Seffy  had  deserted  her  at  the  church  door 
and  that  he  had  first  laughed  —  Seffy.  This 
was  too  piquant  to  be  passed  over,  and  it  was 
heard  far  and  wide. 

To  Seffy's  father,  who,  even  in  this  dire 
strait,  strove  for  happiness  for  them  both 
—  and,  of  course,  the  pasture-field  —  she  said 
with  more  abandoned  disrespect  than  she  had 
ever  addressed  to  any  one: 

"  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  I  do  not  take 
revenge  on  him!  If  he  wasn't  so  little  I 

92 


SEFKXH 


would.  But  he's  not  worth  bothering  about. 
Sacked  me,  did  he  ?  I'll  show  him ! " 

"  Why,  Sally !     What  would  you  do?  " 

"  Put  him  over  my  knee  and  spank  him  and 
then  pen  him  in  the  cellar ! " 

"  Sally,  don't  talk  like  that,"  pleaded  the 
old  man.  "  It  sp'iles  your  voice." 

And  Sally  gave  him  then  and  there  a  rude 
specimen  of  how  her  voice  was  being  spoiled 
—  which  I  may  not  reproduce.  But  it  was 
expressed  in  anathema.  Indeed,  others  had 
noticed  that  her  voice,  somehow,  had  lost  its 
soft  richness.  She  was  particularly  kind  to 
the  young  store-keeper  now,  and  he  was  par- 
ticularly reckless  and  drunken.  And  rumor 
presently  had  it  that  she  was  known  to  be 
drunk  with  him  sometimes! 

"  Sally  —  "  said  Seffy  timorously,  one  day, 
(he  had  waited  to  tell  her  this)  "  you  don't 

think  —  you    don't    believe  —  that   I  —  said 

j> 

"  I  know,"  said  Sally  in  voice  that  froze 
him,  "  that  you  are  a  fool  —  and  I  am  not 


fond  of  fools.  Go  away!  Be  glad  I  don't 
lick  you!" 

And  then  rumor  had  it  that  she  and  Sam 
were  to  be  married  —  "  for  spite." 

But,  curiously  enough,  the  person  most  af- 
fected by  all  this  was  not  Sally,  nor  Seffy, 
nor  Sam.  It  was  Seffy's  father,  whose  suffer- 
ings were  nearing  agony.  Nothing  could  be 
done  with  Seffy.  And  the  course  of  the  love 
between  them,  which  had  never  been  ruffled 
since  Seffy  was  born,  was  often  ruffled  now. 
The  old  man,  as  their  relations  grew  strained, 
became  more  and  more  exasperated  at  Seffy's 
lack  of  initiative. 

"  Gosh-a'mighty !  You  goin'  to  let  that 
molasses-tapper  set  right  down  on  you  and 
nefer  git  off?  Can't  you  see  that  she  wants 
you?  It  don't  matter  what  she  says !  Don't 
you  know  it's  a  dare?  Air  you  going  to  take 
a  dare?  Why,  you  usen't  to  when  you  was  a 
baby!  When  you  year  that  durned  new 
laugh  of  Sally's  can't  you  see  that  somesing's 
wrong?  She's  drinking!  That's  what!  You 

94 


SEFFpfl 

think  she'd  laugh  so  and  drink  if  she  wass 
happy  ?  You  was  a  fool  —  yas,  a  durn  fool. 
It's  your  fault.  Go  right  up  to  her  like  a 
man  and  say  so." 

"  I  did,"  said  Seffy. 

"  Hah,  you  did?     An'  what  she  says? » 

"  She  said  she  knowed  it! " 

"Well  — begoshens!  She's  a  worse  fool. 
Gather  her  in  and  make  a  fool  off  of  her  and 
git  efen!  Turning  her  back  on  an  ol'  man 
that  harms  no  one  —  and  her  guardeen  yit ! " 

Alas,  this  was  another  thing  he  had 
done  to  secure  the  pasture-field  • —  made  him- 
self her  legal  guardian! 

"  I'll  gif e  it  up  —  the  guardeen.  Yassir. 
She  ken  take  keer  herself.  Fool  —  of  course. 
Bose  fools!  You  wait  tell  she  marries  that 
durn  molasses-tapper  if  you  want  to  see  fun !  " 

There  was  such  real  agony  in  the  old  man's 
voice  that  Seffy  suffered,  too. 

"Pappy,  I'm  sorry  —  I  ain't  no  good,  I 
expect  I  guess  I'll  go  away  before  the  wed- 
ding." 

95 


SEFfDfl 

"  Wedding  —  wedding !  You  goin*  to  let 
that  wedding  go  on?  And  him  git  the  pas- 
ture-field? Put  him  between  us  and  the  rail- 
road!" 

"  How  can  /  stop  it,  pappy  ?  " 

"  By  marrying  her  yourself !  " 

"  I  got  enough,  pappy,"  said  Seffy  hope- 
lessly. "  They'd  lynch  me  if  I  tried  it  again. 
I  guess  I'd  better  go  away." 

Quick  anger  flamed  in  his  father's  face  at 
this  invertebrate  submission.  And  his  voice, 
when  he  spoke,  was  harsher  than  Seffy  had 
ever  heard  it. 

"  Got  enough  —  got  enough  —  that's  all 
you  know!  And  go  away!  That's  all  you 
ken  say,  you  bull-headed  id j lot!  Go  and 
apologize  and  git  her  back.  Don't  run.  Then 
marry  her  next  day.  That'll  settle  the  mo- 
lasses-tapper, I  expect,  and  show  that  you  got 
an  inch  or  two  of  backbone!  Choke  her  — 
chloroform  her  and  carry  her  off ! " 

Seffy  laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
thing.  But  it  was  unmirthful. 

96 


SEPKJfl 


"  Gosh-a'mighty !  On  a  time  like  this  you 
ken  laugh!  You  right,  you  ain't  no  good  — 
no,  begoshens!  You  air  an  idjiot  and  fool! 
You  no  man!  No,  nor  nefer  will  be!  I'm 
sorry  I'm  you'  daddy.  I  am,  begoshens ! " 

Then,  as  his  wrath  mounted,  he  raised  his 
huge  fist  and  threatened  Seffy. 

"  Git  away  from  me,  or  I'll  break  your 
nead!  I  can't  stand  you  no  more!  You  not 
worth  a  dam'  —  not  a  dam*  —  to  nobody. 
You  look  like  you'  mammy's  relatifes  —  and 
they  was  all  no  good  —  git  away,  I  tell  you !  " 

He  roared  ominously ;  for  Seffy,  amazed  at 
this  from  his  gentle  old  father,  was  looking 
straight  up  at  him  out  of  a  child's  round  eyes, 
his  lips  parted,  his  throat  exposed.  Slowly, 
as  his  parent  heaped  contumely  upon  him,  his 
sensitive  young  face  whitened,  and  the  ligh£ 
left  it.  Only,  when  his  father  mentioned  his 
mother's  name,  he  said  with  infinite  softness: 

"  Why,  pappy !  " 

But  he  stood  without  fear  under  the  great 
fist  —  as  he  had  often  done. 

97 


SEFKXS 

"  You  hear !  I  told  you  to  git  away  or  I'll 
smash  your  face  in!  I  don't  want  you  no 
more.  Go  to  your  mammy's  relatifes  out 
West " —  he  laughed  horridly  — "  and  see 
what  they'll  do  for  you !  You'll  live  on  bread 
and  water  —  they  ain't  got  nossing  else! 
You'll  work  all  day  and  all  night  —  and 
you'll  haf  no  fun  —  they  don't  know  no  bet- 
ter —  go ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Seffy,  turning  dumbly  away. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  he  meant  to  go 
now.  His  dumb  acquiescence  in  his  sentence 
raised  his  father's  wrath  to  fury. 

"  Yas  —  go,  and  be  mighty  quick  about  it. 
I'm  chust  itching  to  smash  you.  I'll  nefer 
send  for  you  if  you  rot  in  the  poorhouse.  I'll 
nefer  mention  you*  name  as  long  as  I  lif  — 
no!  I  disown  you!  Never  let  me  see  you' 
dam'  face  again  —  go !  " 

It  was  all  so  utterly  unbelievable  that  Seffy 
turned  back.  This  raving  madman  his  jolly 
old  father,  who  had  reverenced  the  memory 
of  his  mother  and  had  taught  him  to  do  so  — 

98 


*      ( 


SEFK5® 


to  mention  her  every  time  he  prayed?  The 
old  man  had  turned,  but  Seffy  came  close  and 
touched  him  gently.  The  caress  only  mad- 
dened him.  Seffy  cowered  at  the  passion  on 
the  face  of  his  father.  He  raised  his  fist. 

"  Git  out  —  dam'  you !  "  he  shouted.  "  If 
you  don't  —  "  But  the  boy  could  not,  now. 

The  huge  fist  trembled  on  high  a  moment, 
some  instinct  of  sanity  struggling  to  control 
it  —  then  it  fell  on  Seffy's  upturned  face. 

He  dropped  among  the  clods  —  his  pale 
hair  mingling  with  the  dust  —  his  hands  in- 
ertly outlying  —  terror  still  quivering  in  his 
lips  and  nostrils.  Blood  slowly  oozed  from  his 
mouth  and  nose,  and  a  livid  red  mark  began 
to  grow  upon  the  depression  in  his  forehead 
which  the  blow  had  made. 

One  moment  —  two  —  the  old  man  looked 
down  at  this.  Then  he  understood  that  he 
had  done  it  and  with  a  savage  animal-cry  he 
swept  the  boy  into  his  arms.  Seffy  doubled 
inertly  upon  him,  as  the  dead  do.  His 
father  raced  frenziedly  home  with  him,  leap- 

99 


SEFK5S 

ing  fences  like  a  hound.  He  put  him  upon 
the  pretty  white  bed  the  boy  had  been  wont  to 
make  with  such  care  for  himself.  It  was 
dainty  and  smooth  now.  The  blood  dripped 
from  Seffy's  face  and  from  his  own  beard  and 
stained  the  white  coverings.  The  sight  was 
full  of  horror!  He  staggered  drunkenly 
away.  He  looked  hastily  for  his  gun  — 
meaning,  perhaps,  to  kill  himself.  But  then 
it  seemed  to  him  that  Seffy  sighed.  He  fell 
on  his  knees  and  agonized  for  the  life  he 
thought  he  had  taken.  Then  he  felt  a  pulse- 
beat.  With  a  hoarse  cry  he  rushed  out  into 
the  road,  calling  for  the  doctor.  Two  people 
were  coming  toward  him.  It  was  Sam  and 
Sally,  returning  from  their  marriage. 

By  what  he  saw  on  Old  Baumgartner's  face 
and  hands,  Sam  was  sobered.  Both  under- 
stood that  they  were  approaching  some 
tragedy. 

"Who?"  asked  Sally,  suddenly  oblivious 
of  Sam. 

«  Seffy." 

100 


"  Sam !  "  she  turned  upon  her  husband  with 
command.  "  Bring  the  doctor !  " 

Sam  went  with  satisfactory  haste. 

"  Who  hurt  him?  "  asked  Sally,  as  if  she 
were  ready  to  slay  him  who  did. 

"  I.  I  killed  him  because  he  wouldn't 
marry  you!  You  wouldn't  marry  him!  Oh, 
you  devil ! " 

It  was  at  that  instant  that  the  great  change 
in  Sally  came.  She  leaped  before  him 
into  the  house  and  up  to  Seffy's  room. 
When  the  old  man  slowly  followed  she  was 
there  —  with  eyes  bent  upon  Seffy's  bloody, 
unconscious  face.  So  she  kept  her  eyes.  She 
did  not  speak.  And  when  the  doctor  came, 
she  was  still  there  —  as  at  first  —  unconscious 
as  he,  the  doctor  said. 

He  was  not  dead,  and  presently  he  breathed 
again.  But  his  eyes  remained  closed,  and, 
late  that  night,  when  he  had  drifted  from  un- 
consciousness into  deep  sleep,  they  put  out 
the  light  and  left  him. 

When  they  came  again  he  had  disappeared. 

101 


XI 


WHEN  SPRING  CAME 

That  was  a  cold  and  lonely  winter  for  the 
old  man.  The  bay  mare  stood  in  the  stable 
and  whinnied  for  Seffy.  The  old  house  was 
full  of  harsh  echoes.  Its  spirit  seemed  to 
have  gone.  Seffy's  father  knew  now  what  a 
rare  thing  is  joy  —  and  what  a  joyous  crea- 
ture Seffy  had  been. 

The  ground  was  hard  to  till.  And  often 
he  thought  about  what  he  had  said  of 
Seffy's  mother. 

Then  he  would  toil  up  the  steep  stair  to 
the  garret  —  he  had  become  quite  feeble  — 
and  take  out  of  an  old  German  chest  a  da- 
guerreotype of  her  with  Seffy  in  her  arms. 
And  sometimes  he  would  cry  over  it  until  his 
ueard  was  wet. 

102 


SEFK5S 

"  God  bless  you,  my  little  boy,"  he  would 
sometimes  say,  "  that  you  cared  for  her  more 
than  I  did.  You  nefer  called  her  no  names. 

"  I  didn't  know  I  could  be  so  mean  to 
the  dead  —  who  don't  deserfe  it,  and 
can't  talk  back.  And,  God-a'mighty !  If  any 
one's  to  be  called  names,  it's  me!  —  not  her 
nor  —  you,  Seffy,  nor  you !  For  I  expect  I'm 
a  murderer ! " 

And  sometimes,  when  his  loneliness  was  too 
hard  to  be  borne,  he  would  go  out  and  sit  for 
hours  and  talk  to  the  old  bay  mare  —  about 
Seffy.  He  fancied  she  quite  understood,  and 
I  do,  too. 

When  the  spring  came  he  plowed  alone. 
And  this  was  hardest  of  all.  To  plow  around 
and  around  his  vast  fields  with  no  one  to  meet 
in  the  other  furrow  —  no  one  to  talk,  to  smile, 
to  laugh  to  —  then,  when  noon  came,  to  sit 
under  the  shade  of  some  tree  redolent  with 
memories  of  the  pretty  little  boy,  where  he 
and  Seffy  had  sat,  from  his  childhood  to  his 
manhood,  and  eat  the  food  which  choked ! 

103 


•  Oh,  if  he  could  only  have  laughed  —  at 
himself,  at  Seffy,  at  the  mare,  at  anybody  or 
anything !  If  he  could  only  have  laughed ! 

And  he  knew  that  every  animal  on  the  place 
wondered  and  hungered  for  little  Seffy  and 
questioned  him  with  pathetic  eyes,  while  he, 
at  first,  guiltily  kept  silent  —  then  tried  to 
confess  his  shame  to  them. 

"  Yas,"  he  told  the  mare,  "I  done  it  — I 
struck  him  —  here,  right  here !  In  the  face 
—  while  his  eyes  was  looking  in  mine  — 
pleading  —  and  here  was  blood  —  and  here 
and  here  —  and  dust  in  his  hair  —  and  his 
eyes  was  closed  —  and  when  I  run  home  wiss 
him  his  legs  dangled  like  he  was  dead.  And 
he  crawled  away  somewheres  to  die  —  I  don't 
know  why  they  don't  come  and  hang  me.  I 
haf  told  'em  all  that  I  killed  him.  But  no 
one  don't  arrest  me." 


XII 


One  day  he  went  up  to  the  vine-covered 
house  on  the  Hill  of  Delight,  with  a  bundle 
of  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  See  yere,  Sally,"  he  said  senilely,  "  yere's 
you*  papers.  I  gif  up  the  guardeenship. 
You  ken  git  another  one  if  you  not  on  age  yit. 
I  don't  keer  a  durn  who.  I'm  tired.  If  it 
wasn't  for  you  —  Seffy  would  be  alif e." 

Sally  drooped  her  head. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  so  humbly  that  he  re- 
lented a  little. 

"  I  got  to  do  it.  I  ain't  no  account  no 
more.  I  ought  to  haf  a  guardeen  myself. 
And  people's  making  such  a  fuss  — you  ain't 
treated  us  right  —  no,  you  ain't !  I  guess  I 
had  better  not  be  mixed  in.  They  say  that 

105 


SEFFDfi 


you  married  a  drunkard,  and  killed  —  a  man 
—  and  got  to  be  a  drunkard  yourself.  But 
I  know  better  'bout  one  sing.  I  killed  him. 
Yit  they  say  that  you  married  Sam  chust  to 
spite  poor  Seffy  —  and  yet  lofing  Sef .  Oh, 
Sef  —  Sef  —  why  didn't  she  tell  you  so ! " 

He  went  on  heedlessly  till  he  knew  that 
Sally  was  sobbing.  He  raised  her  face  and 
looked  into  it  curiously  and  saw  fpr  the  first 
time  that  pathetic  wanness  of  which,  also, 
people  began  to  talk. 

"  Sally,"  he  said  then,  "  you  not  well?  " 

"  Quite  well,"  said  Sally. 

"  Then  you  got  trouble  —  trouble,  too, 
Sally?" 

"  Oh,  pappy,"  she  pleaded  breathlessly, 
"  don't  you  turn  away  from  me,  too.  I  have 
no  one  but  you !  No.  I  have  not  treated  you 
right.  But,  oh,  life  is  so  hard  to  me !  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  smoothing  her  hair  with  his 
gnarled  old  hand.  "  I'fe  had  my  eyes  turned 
within.  But  I  didn't  know  you  had  trouble. 
I  heerd  that  Sam  had  took  to  hard  drinkin' 

106 


and  I  sought  you  didn't  keer.  You  was  so 
rackless  — " 

"  Yes,"  she  sighed,  "  I  am  reckless !  And 
—  yes  —  I  drink  sometimes.  But  it  is  that 
way  I  can  forget." 

"  I  don't  turn  ag'in'  no  one  in  trouble,  efen 
if  they  don't  treat  me  right  —  and  drink  — " 

"  Forgive  me !  Oh,  forgive  me,  pappy ! 
The  suffering  is  mine !  " 

"Yas,"  he  said,  "  yas  —  don't  cry.  But 
the  suffering  ain't  all  yourn." 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  Not  all  —  not  all !  " 

"But,  Sally,  if  I  take  the  papers  back, 
you  won't  drink  no  more?  It  ain't  nice  — 
efen  if  you  air  the  wife  of  a  drunkard." 

"  No.  If  you  will  be  my  friend,  I  will  try 
to  be  what  I  would  have  been  as  Seff y's  wife !  " 

"  It's  a  bargain  —  and  I'm  sorry  I  spoke 
so  harsh,  Sally.  Mebby,  mebby  —  God 
knows !  —  we  ken  comfort  one  another.  I  — 
Sally  —  I  need  some  one,  too !  " 

"Yes!  Will  you  let  me?  I  will  have  no 
friend  but  you!" 

107 


SEFEOffl 


"  Yas !  And  I  won't  have  no  friend  but 
you,  Sally." 

"  Will  you  let  me  kiss  you?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to?  "  he  cried  tremulously. 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  girl. 

"  Me?    Sally,  lem  me  kiss  you!  " 

She  put  up  her  lips  almost  solemnly  —  and 
with  that  their  compact  was  sealed. 


108 


XIII 

ONE  BLOW  FOE  THAT  TO  SEFFY 

He  took  the  papers  home  again,  and  was 
very  gentle  with  her  afterward,  for  the  things 
which  the  world  blamed  in  her.  His  was  the 
only  real  kindness  she  knew.  Her  little  cant- 
ing world  had  no  pity  for  her.  But  to  her 
drunken  husband,  in  spite  of  all,  she  was  a 
loyal  wife,  and  the  old  man  liked  her  the 
better  for  it. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  they  two,  the  bent 
old  man  and  the  girlish  wife  of  the  drunkard, 
separated  more  and  more  from  the  world  and 
came  more  and  more  together.  And  often 
they  were  seen  in  the  fields  together  and  walk- 
ing along  the  roads  arm  in  arm. 

With  Sally's  little  fortune  at  command, 
Sam  had  gone  rapidly  to  the  bad.  And  Sally 

109 


SEFFOS 

came  to  know  what  tears  were,  and  that  dread- 
ful kind  of  waiting  which  falls  to  the  lot  of 
such  women, —  the  waiting  for  the  fall  of  a 
footstep  which  makes  one  shudder  yet  rejoice. 

They  told  her  to  get  rid  of  him,  but  she 
shook  her  head  and  thought  of  the  inscription 
in  her  wedding  ring. 

After  a  while  it  was  the  gentle  old  man  who 
helped  to  make  these  vigils  less  intolerable  — 
going  away  stealthily  by  the  back  door  when 
Sam's  unsteady  step  was  heard  at  the  front  — 
an  angel  of  light  if  ever  there  was  one  in 
plowman's  jacket. 

It  fell  grimly  to  his  lot,  too,  to  provide  for 
Sam  by  diminishing  the  little  farm  he  had 
longed  and  hoped  for,  acre  by  acre.  There 
was  no  contention  between  them  as  to  this. 
The  young  wife's  wishes  were  his  law. 

"  He  married  me  for  that,"  said  Sally,  the 
first  time,  "  and  I  let  him  marry  me  for  that 

—  just  for  spite.    Only  no  one  was  spited  but 
me  —  but  me  —  well,  he  shall  have  it  —  all 

—  all  "—  her  voice  broke  a  little  — "  all  but 

110 


SEFFOfl 

the  —  pasture-field  —  that  —  no  one  shall 
have  but  —  you  —  or  Seffy  when  I  die." 

Only  once  he  interfered.  Sam  raised  his 
hand  to  strike  her  and  he  laid  the  drunkard  at 
his  feet  with  a  blow  such  as  he  had  struck 
but  once  before  in  his  life. 

"  I  am  her  guardeen ! "  he  cried  as  he 
struck.  "  By  the  Lord,  I'm  her  guardeen ! " 

For  a  moment  he  gloated  over  the  prostrate 
brute.  Then  he  stood  up  trembling  before 
Sally. 

"  Forgif  me,"  he  begged.  "  But  I  couldn't 
help  it.  It  done  itself.  Mebby  —  God- 
a'mighty  only  knows !  —  it  was  a  chance  to 
efen  up  for  the  other  one.  And  yit  it  was  a 
righteous  blow — yas,  it  was  a  righteous  blow!" 

Sally  put  her  hands  into  his  and  sobbed. 

«  Yes,"  she  said.  "  You  are  the  first  that 
ever  saw  — " 

It  was  too  late  to  stop.  And  before  it  was 
done  he  knew  that  this  was  not  a  new  experi- 
ence to  her,  and  that  she  suffered  it  —  and 
was  almost  glad  of  it  —  for  penance. 

Ill 


SEFFSffl 


"  By  the  Lord,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  if  he 
efer  strikes  you  ag'in  I'll  kill  him! " 

"  No,"  said  Sally  softly. 

"  Yas ! "  he  insisted  with  some  of  his  old 
violence. 

"No,"  she  repeated  sadly.  "Because  it 
is  all  my  fault  —  all  the  shame  —  the  shame 
—  because  I  —  deserve  it !  And  —  Thou 
shalt  not  kill!  You  know  we  have  tempers! 
And  we  have  both  used  them ! " 

He  shuddered  and  thought  of  the  plowed 
field,  with  Seffy  lying  there. 

"  Good  night !  "  he  said  with  averted  face. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,  pappy  —  I  didn't 
mean  that  you  killed  him.  He's  not  dead. 
Pappy,  kiss  me  —  good  night!  And  forgive 
me." 

But  this  also  made  her  dearer  to  him.  And 
so,  little  by  little,  they  drew  closer  and  closer, 
until  a  certain  happiness  was  his  and  a  cer- 
tain content  hers.  Occasionally  they  laughed. 
But  this  was  not  often.  They  were  well  satis- 
fied to  sit  before  the  winter  fire,  she  with  an 

112 


elbow  on  his  knee,  he  with  his  rugged  hands 
in  her  hair.  And  after  a  while  she  would 
ask  him  no  more  to  kiss  her  good  night  —  he 
did  it  as  of  right,  and  very  beautifully,  on  her 
hair  —  so  much  like  Seffy,  that  first  dear  kiss 

—  that  it  made  her  sob  —  always. 

"  Just  like  Seffy ! "  she  said  the  first  time 
and  cried,  pushing  him  out  of  the  door  when 
he  would  have  asked  a  question. 

But  he  asked  his  question  one  day.  It  was 
whether  she  had  loved  Seffy. 

"Not  till  Seffy  comes!"  she  cried.  "I 
won't  answer." 

"  Sally,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  killed  my  lit- 
tle boy.  He  is  dead.  I  hurt  him  —  I  made 
him  af eared  of  me  —  he  dragged  himself 
away  to  die,  like  wild  animals  that  air  hurt 
by  men.  So  you  will  hf*ve  to  tell  me." 

«No  —  no!"  she  begged.  "He  is  not 
dead.  And  some  day  he  will  come  back  to  us 

—  you  — " 

"  Sally,  you  said  'us'  ?  " 

"Yes.     Forgive  me.     I  meant  —  «/OM." 

113 


SEFK5S 

"  Did  you  mean  me?  " 
"Yes  — oh,  yes!" 
"  Cross  your  breast !  " 
She  made  this  adjuration  with  a  smile. 
But  when  he  had  gone,  she  groveled  on  the 
floor  and  cried: 
"  Us  —  us  —  us ! " 


114 


XIV 

FOB,  SEFFY'S  SAKB 

And  so  three  —  nearly  four  —  years  passed 
and  Sam  was  dead. 

"  Pappy,"  she  said  afterward,  "  you  have 
been  very  good  to  me ! " 

"  And  you  to  me  —  it's  efen  —  say  nossing 
more." 

"  You  have  kept  me  from  going  crazy,  I 
think." 

"  You  haf  kep'  my  ol'  heart  from  breaking, 
I  expect.  Yas,  I  know,  now,  that  there  is 
such  a  sing  as  proke  hearts,"  he  averred. 

"Pappy,  I—" 

"What?  "asked  he. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Pm  going  to  do  now. 
I  got  to  work  for  my  living,  I  expect.  There 
is  not  enough  left  for  — " 

115 


"  \  ou'll  nef er  work  for  you'  keep  while  I'f e 
got  a  dollar,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  owe  you 
that  much  for  —  for  — " 

She  liked  that.  She  was  sitting  on  a  low 
?tool  at  his  feet,  her  elbow  on  his  knee  —  her 
favorite  attitude.  She  crowded  a  little  closer. 

"  Pappy,"  she  said  presently,  "  let  me  come 
and  keep  your  house." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  asked  the  old  man 
joyously. 

"Yes!"  she  said. 

"But  why?  That's  hard  work  for  a  gal 
that's  not  used  to  it." 

"  Oh,  maybe  I  want  to  be  where  Seffy  was. 
For  —  some  day  —  some  day  —  he'll  come 
back  and  I  —  want  to  be  there  —  to  ask  his 
pardon." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while  and  then  the 
old  man  said  huskily: 

"  You  shall.  You  shall  sleep  in  Seffy's  bed. 
You  shall  look  in  his  little  cracked  looking- 
glass.  You  shall  set  in  his  place  at  the  table. 
You  shall  be  my  Seffy !  And  we'll  wait  for 

116 


SEFK53 

him  together  and  we'll  bose  ast  his  pardon  — 
when  he  comes  —  when  he  comes." 

"  May  I  ride  his  mare  —  and  plow  with 
her?" 

"You  —  you  —  you?"  he  questioned  in 
his  ecstasy.  "Ken  you?  —  say  —  do  you 
sink  you  ken?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  very  softly.  "  If  you  will 
let  me,  I  will  be  all  and  everything  Seffy  was 
to  you.  I  took  him  from  you.  Let  me  do 
my  best  to  replace  him.  It  is  for  that  —  that, 
only,  that  I  have  cared.  We  shall  rent  this 
house  and  that  will  help  —  for  I  know  you 
have  been  getting  poor,  too  —  and  —  and  — 
if  you  will  take  it  —  I  —  I  —  want  to  give 
you  —  the  pasture-field  —  for  —  oh,  for  Sef- 
fy »s  sake.  Will  you  take  it?  "  For  he  had 
demurred.  "  For  Seffy's  sake  —  just  as  you 
would  take  it  from  him  —  and  as  he  would 
give  it  to  you  —  if  he  were  all  —  here?  I 
want  to  be  both  son  and  daughter  to  you. 
Let  me  be  Seffy  and  myself  too !  It  is  much 
—  but  let  me  try." 

117 


5EFK5S 

But  he  had  caught  that  little  slip  of  the 
tongue,  and  was  dumb. 

They  sat  silent  by  the  fire  for  a  long 
time  then.  Presently  the  old  man  rose  and 
lifting  her  he  said,  with  a  smile  such  as  she 
had  never  seen  on  his  face : 

"  Yas  —  for  Seffy's  sake  —  come !  Now!  " 

It  was  night.  But  he  led  her  from  her  own 
house  to  his.  And  that  night  she  slept  in 
Seffy's  bed. 

One  of  Sally's  duties  was  the  nightly  read- 
ing of  the  Farm  Journal.  And  just  now  this 
paper,  edited  by  a  gentleman  who  knew  noth- 
ing about  farming  —  and  by  him  edited  well 
— -  was  full  of  the  great  meeting  of  the  Na- 
tional Farmers'  League  of  the  United  States 
of  America,  which  was  in  session  at  Omaha. 

"  By  far  the  most  intelligent  and  interest- 
ing paper  of  the  session,  thus  far,"  Sally 
read  one  night,  "  was  that  on  The  Proper 
Succession  of  Crops  In  Maryland  by  the 
youthful  president  of  the  Kansas  State 

118 


SEFFOS 

League,  Mr.  "  Sally  rose  suddenly  and 

vanished  to  the  kitchen  where  there  was  a 
light. 

"  What  was  it?  "  asked  the  old  man  when 
she  returned. 

"I  — I  choked,"  said  Sally  quite  truth- 
fully, "  and  went  for  a  drink." 

"  Yas  —  don't  read  no  more.  We'll  find 
out  about  the  succession  to-morrow  night. 
But  what  was  the  smart  feller's  name  ?  " 

She  pretended  to  look  for  it,  and  when  she 
pretended  to  have  found  it: 

"  Mr. —  S.  P.  Brown,"  she  read. 

"  A  Kansas  man  —  about  Maryland ! 
Huh!" 

But  that  night,  after  Seffy's  father  was  in 
bed,  Sally  wrote  a  pitiful  letter  —  perhaps  the 
first  she  had  ever  written: 

"  Dear  Seffy  (it  ran) 

Please  come  home.  Come  as  soon  as  you 
get  this.  Your  pappy  wants  you.  He  is  old 
and  sorry,  so  please  come  right  away. 

Sephenijah  P.  Baumgartner,  Senior." 

119 


SEFK5S 

But  the  envelop  was  addressed  to 
"  Mr.  S.  P.  Baumgartner,  Jr., 

President  Kas.   State  League, 
Kansas." 

The  post-mistress  smiled  indulgently  as 
Sally  handed  in  the  letter  the  next  day. 

"  A  long  way  off,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sally,  fidgeting  with  her  bon- 
net. "  How  soon  do  you  think  it  will  get 
there?" 

The  post-rnistress  reflected. 

"  About  a  week,"  she  said  then. 

"  So  long?  " 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  thought 
it  would  take  longer.  Kansas  was  a  vague 
place  in  those  days,  and  a  vast  distance  away. 

"  Well,"  said  the  post-mistress  comfort- 
ingly, "  mebby  not  quite  so  long.  But  bettor 
not  count  much  on  its  getting  there  sooner. 
Pll  give  it  a  good  start.  I'll  put  it  in  the  mail 
bag  now." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sally. 

She  watched  her  put  it  into  the  bag  and 

120 


then  went  dreaming  home,  and  for  all  of 
the  two  weeks  of  waiting  she  was  very  happy 
—  dreaming  always.  Poor  girl  —  she  had 
made  her  life  so  unhappy  that  joy  seemed 
divine.  She  was  sure  of  Seffy.  Sometimes 
she  wondered  with  a  blush  and  a  start  if  he 
might  not  come  himself  in  answer.  She  would 
not  have  been  surprised  to  have  him  steal  up 
behind  her  —  that  was  his  way,  she  remem- 
bered —  and  call  out  softly  her  name.  So 
she  went  about  almost  on  tiptoes  so  that  she 
might  hear  him  if  he  should.  It  was  a  little 
difficult  to  keep  it  from  the  inquisitive  old 
man,  who  did  not  quite  understand  her  sud- 
den happiness.  But  she  did  it. 

And,  finally,  the  two  weeks  were  up.  She 
was  quite  sure  Seffy  would  not  waste  a  mo- 
ment with  his  answer.  And  he  might  use  that 
mysterious  instrument,  the  telegraph,  which 
she  understood  would  not  take  more  than  an 
hour  from  Kansas.  She  supposed  his  mes- 
sage, even  if  he  used  the  telegraph,  would 
come  to  the  post-office. 

121 


The  ceremonial  of  a  letter,  with  simple 
people,  is  as  much  a  matter  of  concern  as  a 
treaty  between  two  nations.  And  now,  as  she 
dressed  herself  in  her  best  clothes  to  go  to  the 
post-office,  she  felt,  somehow,  as  if  she  were 
to  be  in  Seffy's  personal  presence,  and  must 
be  as  immaculate  as  always.  She  wondered 
how  he  would  address  her  —  forgetting  that 
his  answer  must  come  to  the  one  whose  name 
she  had  signed.  She  had  heard  of  various 
most  dear  head-lines  to  letters.  I  am  afraid 
she  blushed  at  all  this.  For,  as  she  looked  in 
the  glass,  she  saw  a  face  so  radiant  that  she 
looked  again  to  identify  it. 

So,  all  the  more,  she  dressed  herself  with 
the  same  care  she  would  have  taken  were  she 
going  to  him  instead  of  to  the  post-office  for 
his  letter.  She  remembered  what  he  had  said 
about  her  hair,  and  she  ventured  to  pull  it 
about  her  face,  much  as  it  had  been  that  night 
in  the  dark  parlor.  But  at  the  thought  of 
that  the  tears  came  slowly  into  her  eyes.  She 
had  been  very  happy  that  night.  It  was  aJI 


the  happiness  she  had  ever  known,  it  seemed 
now.  She  dried  her  eyes  and  then  she  sat  at 
the  table  where  Seffy  had  often  sat,  and 
looked  again  in  his  broken  mirror.  The 
radiance  was  quenched.  Her  face  was  pale 
and  thin  now.  She  thought  of  it  quite  as  if 
he  were  soon  to  see  it. 

"  I  wonder  if  he'll  think  me  handsome, 
now?"  She  shook  her  head  doubtfully  at 
the  face  she  saw  in  the  glass.  "  No,  I  have 
no  red  cheeks  no  more  —  and  my  eyes  are  big- 
ger —  and  my  lips  thinner  —  and  my  hair  is 
paler  —  and  my  hands  —  " 

She  remembered  how  he  had  kissed  them, 
and  put  her  head  down  and  sobbed.  They  did 
not  seem  fit  to  be  kissed  now  —  nor  worth 
kissing. 

But  the  post-mistress  liked  her  better  that 
way  and  so  do  I.  For  she  had  acquired  a 
daintiness  that  was  almost  immaculate. 

As  soon  as  Sally  came,  the  post-mistress 
smiled  and  shook  her  head.  For  she  had  un- 
derstood what  the  letter  contained  quite  as  if 

123 


SEFKXI 

she  had  seen  it.  And  she  had  watched  anx- 
iously for  the  answer. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  said  compassionately. 

Sally's  legs  weakened  and  she  clutched  at 
the  little  shelf  before  her.  It  took  a  moment 
to  swallow  the  thing  in  her  throat.  Then  she 
murmured : 

"  It's  two  weeks." 

"  Yes.  But  he'd  have  to  be  pretty  prompt 
to  get  it  here  by  this  time." 

Sally  had  been  sure  of  this  promptness.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  to  doubt.  She  would 
not  have  wasted  a  minute.  She  turned  hope- 
lessly away. 

"  Perhaps  to-morrow !  "  said  the  kind  post- 
mistress. 

Sally  veered,  smiling. 

"You  think  so?" 

"  Perhaps.  One  can  never  tell.  Don't 
worry,  dear.  You  see  the  address  was  very 
vague  and  it  may  be  some  time  before  they 
find  him." 

"  You  don't  think  it  is  too  late?  » 

124 


"  I  hope  not,  dear." 

She  had  not  thought  of  that  before.  She 
had  fancied  him  waiting  for  some  such  recall. 
But,  of  course,  he  had  formed  other  ties  — 
he  would  be  glad  to  forget  her.  He  might  be 
married  !  Of  course  he  was !  Otherwise  he 
could  not  be  a  president ! 

"  I  guess  it's  too  late,"  she  said  again. 

"  I  would  not  think  that.  The  address  was 
very  vague.  But,  after  you  were  gone,  I  took 
the  precaution  to  put  a  return  address  on  the 
envelop,  and  if  he  does  not  get  it,  it  will  come 
back ;  but  that  will  take  some  little  time." 

There  was  nothing  the  next  day  nor  the 
next,  nor  for  the  many  days  afterward  that 
she  went  to  the  post-office.  She  no  longer 
dressed  up  for  the  trip,  and  she  was  glad  now 
she  had  not  told  his  father. 

For  a  while  she  had  to  lock  herself  in  her 
room  when  the  desire  came  on  her  to  go  to  the 
post-office.  And  then  she  remained  away 
three  days,  then  a  week,  and  then  the  post- 
mistress admitted  that  the  letter  had  had  time 

125 


SEFK5S 

to  be  returned.  She  must  not  give  up  though. 
Strange  things  happen,  sometimes,  with  let- 
ters. 

The  letter  had  been  returned,  the  post- 
mistress had  it  then.  But  she  pityingly 
thought  it  best  that  Sally  should  wait  for  it 
still,  while  she  tried  to  send  it  back  to  him. 

Otherwise  it  was  very  much  as  Sally  had 
planned  and  hoped,  save  that  she  was  a  bit 
sadder.  She  kept  Seffy's  father's  house,  as, 
perhaps,  no  house  was  ever  kept  before.  She 
had  not  been  famous  for  the  keeping 
of  her  own  house  in  the  days  of  her 
coquetteship.  Her  grandmother  had  at- 
tended to  this  —  and  then  a  maid  who 
interpreted  her  faultlessly.  But  now  her 
own  hands  did  all  —  and  did  it  with 
love.  And  she  did  replace  Seff y  —  and  more. 
For  she  plowed,  and,  after  a  brief  apprentice- 
ship, no  one  did  it  better.  The  bay  mare  was 
as  kind  to  Sally  as  she  had  been  to  Seffy. 
Nothing  in  his  life  had  ever  been  so  sweet  to 
the  old  man  as  those  rests  when  they  met. 

126 


SEFEpfl 

And  no  food  was  ever  so  piquant  as  that 
eaten  under  the  trees  at  their  nooning. 

Sally  still  went  to  the  post-office,  and  the 
post-mistress  still  had  her  letter  where  she 
could  have  put  her  hand  upon  it,  though  she 
mercifully  concealed  this. 

But  there  was  no  hope.  Not  a  word  of  con- 
fidence had  passed  between  Sally  and  the  kind 
post-mistress,  but  each  knew  that  the  other 
understood  quite  as  if  their  confidence  was 
complete.  So  that  it  was  as  if  they  spoke  of 
an  old  matter  when  Sally  said,  one  day : 

"  Yes  —  I  guess  it's  too  late.  He's  mar- 
ried." 

"  I  wouldn't  think  so,  if  I  were  you.  till  I 
heard  it  from  him,"  said  the  compassionate 
woman  behind  the  counter.  "  I  thought  so 
once.  He  went  to  war.  I  heard  that  he  was 
killed.  I  married  another  man  —  just  —  oh, 
just  because!  Then  he  came  back.  I  have 
always  been  sorry." 

Something  filled  the  speaker's  eyes  —  and 
Sally,  with  the  dumb  intuition  of  the  primitive 

127 


nature,  stood  there  a  long  time  and  said  only, 
"  Thank  you." 

But  after  that  hope  rose  and  lived  again. 

That  night  the  post-mistress  received,  from 
Washington,  the  address  of  the  Kansas  State 
League  of  Farmers'  Clubs,  and  put  it  on  the 
face  of  the  returned  letter  and  sent  it  forth 
again. 


128 


XV 

SHALL  SEFFY  ENTEB  AT  THIS  CUE? 

Winter  had  come  again  —  the  fifth  one. 
They  sat  together  in  the  great  hearth  of  the 
kitchen,  in  their  characteristic  attitude  when 
before  a  fire.  The  hickory  logs  sputtered  sav- 
agely, but  sent  out  to  them,  nevertheless,  a 
grateful  warmth.  Their  faces  and  bodies 
glowed  in  the  fervor  of  it.  And  there  is  noth- 
ing like  this  to  put  one  at  peace  with  all  the 
world. 

"  Sally,"  said  the  old  man,  "  this  is  nice." 

"  Very  mce,"  agreed  Sally. 

But  also  there  is  nothing  like  this  to  send 
one's  memory  backward.  And  this  it  was  do- 
ing for  both  of  them. 

"  Eferybody  don't  haf  no  such  fire  to- 
night." And  the  everybody  he  thought  of  as 
he  sighed  was  —  Seffy. 

129 


SEFK5SB 


*  No,  not  everybody,"  sighed  Sally,  prop- 
ping her  head  upon  his  knee. 

"  Sally  —  who  do  you  mean  by  ef ery- 
body?" 

"  Just  one  person,"  admitted  Sally,  "  the 
same  one  you  mean." 

"  Yas,"  said  Seffy's  father  very  softly,  and 
then  they  were  silent. 

"  Mebby  some's  got  no  homes  —  and  out 
freezing  to-night,"  the  old  man  said  pres- 
ently. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Sally.  "  We  could  take 
them  in  here  if  we  knew  where  they  are  — 
couldn't  we,  pappy  ?  " 

But  that  last  note  was  the  one  which  dams 
up  tears. 

"  Yas  —  if  we  knowed  where  they  air  — 
my  God  —  if  we  chust  knowed  where  they  air ! 
Sally,  don't  you  nefer  turn  no  one  away  from 
the  door  on  a  cold  winter's  night.  You  don't 
know  who  it  might  be !  " 

"  I'll  never  turn  any  one  away  from  the 
door!  "  said  Sally  with  emotion. 

130 


"  That's  right,  Sally.  Some's  dead.  I'd 
rather  be  dead  than  haf  no  home." 

"  And  I,"  agreed  Sally. 

"  Nor  no  friends." 

Sally  nodded. 

"  Sally,  how  long  is  it  sence  you  was  mar- 
ried?" 

"  More  than  four  years  —  nearly  five, 
pappy." 

"  My !  but  sings  is  changed ! "  said  the  old 
man.  "  Efen  the  sun  don't  seem  so  bright  no 
more." 

"  Yes,  things  are  changed,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Yit  it  must  be  chust  an  idee.  Why,  the 
Bible  says  that  summer  and  winter  shall  not 
change  tell  eferysing  come  to  pass  —  efery- 
sing —  eferysing  —  "  Then  his  voice  broke. 
"  Yit  —  yit  —  yit  it's  one  sing  ain't  come  to 
pass  and  it  seems  like  it's  nefer  going  to.  It's 
better  sence  you  come.  But  yit  the  house  is 
damp  —  and  shif ery,"  —  he  shivered  himself 
—  "  and  empty  —  like  it  was  a  funeral  about 
all  the  time.  Yit  it's  no  one  dead  —  no  one's 

131 


dead  —  he's  not  dead  —  chust  gone.  You 
said  so  —  you  said  it  first !  And  some  day 
he'll  come  back  and  we'll  git  on  our 
knees  and  beg  his  pardon.  But  it's  so  long  — 
oh,  my  God  —  so  long !  Oh,  Seffy  —  Seffy 
—  little  Seffy  —  I  got  a  pain  in  my  breast 
about  you !  You  was  all  I  had.  Come  back 
to  me  —  come  back!  I'm  a  ol'  man.  And 
I'm  sorry  —  sorry  —  and  broke  —  broke 
down.  But  if  you'll  come  back  —  Sally,  do 
TOU  think  he'll  haf  a  scar  on  his  face?  " 

Something  stifled  his  utterance.  The  girl 
put  out  a  soft  hand  to  comfort  him. 

"  Some  day  we  shah*  know  —  see !  Be 
brave!" 

"Yas  —  yas  —  that's  easy  to  say.  But 
you  nefer  struck  no  one  right  in  the  face  — 
when  they  was  looking  up  at  you  —  in  that 
pleading  kind  of  a  way !  " 

She  said  piteously,  "  No." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  nossing  about  it ! 
Oh,  my  God!  if  you'd  had  it  before  you  for 
more  than  four  years  —  like  a  picture  — 

132 


morning  and  efening  —  day  and  night  — 
eferywheres!  The  blood  on  him  —  and  the 
bed  and  me !  " 

"  Pappy,  I  have  done  more  —  I  have  hurt 
him  worse  than  you  did  —  I  broke  —  his 
heart !  "  whispered  the  girl.  "  Oh,  I  should 
have  thought  —  there  was  no  one  like  him  — 
but  I  let  him  go.  If  he  were  here  now  —  " 

They  sat  silent  then  until  the  old  man  said : 

"  Ah  well!    Come,  Sally,  it's  bedtime." 

"  Yes." 

This  meant  that  it  was  time  for  their 
prayer,  which  they  always  said  in  each  other's 
arms,  there,  before  the  great  fire.  So  Sally 
slipped  to  the  floor,  and  they  folded  their 
hands  each  in  the  other.  And,  after  "  Our 
Father  "  was  done,  came  this  —  rude,  simple, 
but  not  less  a  prayer ;  for  in  the  five  years  of 
Seffy's  absence  it  had  passed  into  a  formula. 

"  God,  find  Seffy,  wherefer  he  may  be,  for 
Thou  seest  all  the  world,  and  put  it  into  his 
heart  to  come  back  to  those  who  have  repented 
these  many  years;  make  him  merciful  to  the 

133 


old  and  the  evil-tempered,  and  yet,  if  this  be 
not  in  Thy  infinite  purposes,  O  God,  we  bend 
our  heads  in  submission,  for  it  is  Thy  punish- 
ment for  our  sin ;  but  send  some  word  or  sign, 
that  our  hearts  may  be  comforted,  and  Thy 
will  be  done  —  Amen !  " 

And  while  this  was  being  prayed  a  face 
came  to  the  window  in  answer  —  a  hand 
brushed  away  the  snow  that  the  eyes  might 
see  better.  And  then  a  head,  crowned  with 
pale  hair,  was  uncovered  —  reverently. 

Sally  looked  up.  Something  as  irresistible 
as  a  magnet  drew  her  eyes  to  that  face  in  the 
window. 

As  they  got  up  the  old  man  saw  Sally's 
white  face  and  staring  eyes. 

"  Sally,"  he  said,  "  you  look  like  you'd  seen 
a  ghost!" 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  outer  door. 

"  Bring  him  in,  whoefer  he  is,  Sally,  and 
keep  him  tell  he's  not  hungry  no  more  —  nor 
cold  —  nor  sorry  —  " 

Sally  did  not  speak,  but  went,  still  with 

134 


SEFK5S 

that  strange  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  had 
indeed  seen  a  ghost. 

He  heard  her  pass  through  the  hall  and 
open  the  door  —  then  a  little  cry  —  some  beg- 
ging —  silence  —  a  sob.  After  what  seemed 
a  long  time,  Sally  returned  alone.  She  did 
not  come  to  his  knee  again,  but  stood  panting 
before  him.  He  could  not  see  her  face.  She 
did  not  mean  that  he  should  —  the  fire  was  all 
about  her  —  illuminating  her  —  but  there. 

"  Where  is  he?  "  asked  Seffy's  father. 

"  Out  there." 

He  turned  at  the  strange  throbbing  of  her 
voice.  And  then  he  saw  her  face,  lighted  with 
a  great  radiance. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  In  the  fire- 
light she  was  as  beautiful  as  a  figure  of 
Greuze.  That  vagrant  thing,  joy,  had  come 
back.  But  whence?  How? 

"  Sally,  what's  the  matter?  I  nefer  saw 
you  look  so.  My  God!  what's  the  matter?" 

"  Shut  your  eyes !  " 

The  light  of  the  fire  flooded  her  face  now 

135 


SEl     EN-/S 

and  made  it  too  wonderful  to  close  his  eyes 
upon. 

"  Sally  —  for  the  Lord's  sake  —  "  pleaded 
the  old  man. 

"  Shut  your  eyes,"  she  glanced  over  her 
shoulder,  "  and  be  happy." 

"  Don't,  Sally." 

She  slipped  to  the  floor  and  knelt  at  hii> 
feet. 

"  Pappy,  to-night  I  am  a  magician.  To- 
night I  can  give  you  anything  you  want. 
But  you  must  ask  for  what  you  want  most.' 

She  smiled  lovingly  upon  him. 

"  Shut  your  eyes  and  ask." 

Poor  Old  Baumgartner  did  as  she  com- 
manded. And,  for  a  long  moment,  there  was 
silence.  Then  a  tear  dropped  on  his  face. 
For  in  the  firelight  poor,  sad,  sorry  Old 
Baumgartner  was  making  a  picture,  too:  a 
white,  old,  hopeless,  piteous,  pleading  face, 
framed  in  masses  of  hair,  shaggily  gray  when 
Seffy  went  away,  senilely  white  now.  The 
sunken  eyes  spoke  of  hastening  peace  after 

136 


SOITOW,  and  the  whole  piteous  figure  begged 
for  those  tears  which  fell  upon  its  face. 

"  Oh,  pappy,  excuse  me,"  said  the  voice 
which  had  gathered  to  itself  all  the  music  of 
the  life  he  thought  broken,  "  but  you  have  so 
often  called  me  beautiful,  that  I  want  to  tell 
you  now  that  you  have  the  most  beautiful  face 
I  have  ever  seen !  Pappy  —  Pappy>  dear 
pappy,  God  bless  you !  " 

And  her  lips  descended  upon  his,  her  dear 
fingers  closed  his  eyes  once  more,  her  handker- 
chief wiped  away  the  tear  she  had  dropped 
upon  his  face  and  others  which  had  followed 
it,  and  she  said : 

"  Are  your  eyes  shut?    Yes !    Now,  ask  for 
anything  you  want  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
and  you  shall  have  it.     Do  not  be  afraid! 
The  very  dearest  thing  you  can  think." 

"  Seffy  — "  he  whispered  brokenly  — 
"  Seffy  and  you  —  and  me  —  together !  " 

"  Presto !     Open  your  eyes ! "  cried  Sally. 

He  did  so  —  and  there,  kneeling  before 
him,  was  Seffy — -and  one  arm  was  about 

137 


I 

Sally,  the  other  reaching  out  to  him  —  not 
quite  certain  how  it  would  be  received,  but 
with  the  old  smile  of  Seffy.  He  seemed  big- 
ger, and  he  had  a  young  beard  on  cheek  and 
lip,  and  he  appeared  quite  worthy  to  be  the 
president  of  the  Kansas  State  League  of 
Farmers'  Clubs. 

Old  Baumgartner  looked  without  a  word,  at 
first  to  be  sure,  then  to  fill  all  his  being.  And 
then  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  shook  off  all  the 
years  that  had  accumulated  during  Seffy's 
absence,  and,  when  his  arms  were  about  them 
both,  and  theirs  about  him,  their  joint  shadow 
rose  and  filled  all  the  room  and  ceiling  —  blot- 
ting out  all  else.  And,  lo,  it  was  not  three 
shadows,  but  one! 

"  Seffy,"  asked  his  father,  while  his  arm 
went  about  his  shoulders  with  the  unconscious- 
ness of  what  seemed  yesterday,  *'  how  did  you 
efer  git  president  of  that  sing?  —  what  is 
it?" 

"  I  fought  for  it,  pappy." 

"You?    Gosh-a'mighty!" 

138 


SEFEOfl 

They  both  laughed  happily. 

"  Yes  —  you  and  Sally  were  right  —  I 
needed  to  learn  to  fight.  I  went  out  into  the 
world  where  you  sent  me  —  thank  you  both 
—  and  found  life.  And  I  found  it  a  fight 
from  start  to  finish.  Only  with  some  there  is 
no  quarter." 

"  But  not  with  you,"  said  Sally. 

"  But  not  with  me,"  agreed  Seffy.  "  That 
is  not  necessary  to  success." 

"Gosh!  Seffy,"  said  his  father,  "you  are 
as  wise  as  Ol'  Kellerman,  the  preacher.  Say, 
you  remember  him?" 

"  I  remember  everything  —  the  smallest  — 
and  it  is  all  precious,  pappy  —  more  precious 
than  you  can  know.  If  one  were  never  to 
leave  this  Happy  Valley,  one  might  live  and 
die  as  I  began.  And,  if  one  should  never 
learn  better  it  is  good  —  good !  But  it  is  not 
the  life  of  the  world  out  there.  And,  for  me, 
it  is  gone  for  ever!  In  one  way  I  am  sorry. 
For  the  world  has  nothing  to  exchange  for 
these  little  things.  Out  there  my  heart  has 

139 


SEFEOfl 

always  yearned  for  them  and  always  will. 
You  and  Sally  must  keep  them  as  they  are  — 
nay,  as  they  were.  And  I  shall  live  in  them 
and  with  them  and  we  shall  be  happier  for 
them." 

During  all  this  Seffy's  arms  and  hands  had 
been  busy  in  the  old  fashion  of  the  days  of 
their  simplicity.  It  was  good  to  see  and  bet- 
ter to  be ! 

"I  don't  belief e  it!"  cried  his  happy  old 
father,  returning  his  caresses.  "  You  ain't 
forgot  a  sing !  You  chust  the  same  —  except 
the  dictionary  words  —  chust  the  same  —  our 
Seffy !  Ain't  so,  Sally?  Why  don't  you  talk, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  Just  —  the  —  same,"  said  Sally.  But 
the  tears  were  in  her  dear  eyes  and  she  knew 
that  her  words  were  for  the  father  and  not 
the  son  —  for  him  she  understood  that  it 
would  never  be  the  same  —  quite,  and  it  was 
she  who  had  sent  him  forth  to  lose  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  Happy  Valley. 

"Not   a  bit  —  you   ain't   changed!"   re« 

140 


peated  the  father,  as  if  saying  it  might  make 
it  so. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  laughed  Seffy. 

"  You  ain't !  "  said  his  father. 

"  Oh,  yes !  Sam  couldn't  get  away  with  me 
now ! " 

"Nor  Sally,  hah?" 

"  Nor  Sally." 

"Don't,"  pleaded  Sally,  "you  hurt  me!" 

"  You  see,"  Seffy  went  on,  "you  notice  the 
changes  in  me,  but  not  in  yourselves.  Shall 
I  tell  you  about  them?  For  none  of  us  will 
ever  again  be  quite  as  we  were.  Shall  I  tell 
lo  find  a  nice  fat  calf."  vou  ?  "\,  ^^ 

"  Well,"  laughed  Seffy,  not  relinquishing 
Sally,  "  what  is  the  first  thing?  I'm  ready 
for  work.  I'm  used  to  it !  " 

"To-morrow,  Seffy,"  said  his  father 
briskly,  "you  better  let  Sally  marry  you. 
Remember  she  bought  you." 

He  gave  Sally  time  to  blush,  and  Seffy  time 
to  find  both  her  hands  and  her  lips,  and  then 
he  finished: 

143 


"  There  is  still  one  thing  you  haven't  no- 
ticed about  me,  or  spoken  of,  if  you  did,  in 
which  I  am  not  changed  a  bit." 

"  What?  " 

It  was  Sally's  quick  voice  —  Sally,  who 
thought  she  had  already  inventoried  every  dif- 
ference between  this  Seffy  and  the  old  one  — 
Sally,  who  hungered  for  the  least  thing  in 
which  he  might  be  unchanged! 

"  I'm  stubborn  as  ever  —  thank  you, 
pappy ! " 

"  Goshens !  That's  so !  You  was  a  stub- 
born little  id.iiV!" 

rtf-'*4  oally  ?  Why  don't  you  talk, 
anyway  ?  " 

"Just  —  the  —  same,"  said  Sally.  But 
the  tears  were  in  her  dear  eyes  and  she  knew 
that  her  words  were  for  the  father  and  not 
the  son  —  for  him  she  understood  that  it 
would  never  be  the  same  —  quite,  and  it  was 
she  who  had  sent  him  forth  to  lose  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  Happy  Valley. 

"Not   a  bit  —  you   ain't   changed!"   re- 

140 


Sally  said  nothing  —  she  could  not.  Her 
face  was  deep  in  his  overcoat.  And  she  was 
making  it  so  very  wet  —  that,  presently,  she 
lifted  her  face,  and,  with  her  handkerchief, 
dried  it. 

"  That  is  the  sweetest  thing  you  have  ever 
said  to  me  —  and  it  breaks  my  heart  —  for  I 
don't  deserve  it  —  that  one  little,  simple  word 
—  dear!" 

"  Well,  well,"  broke  in  happy  Old  Baum- 
gartner,  drying  his  own  eyes,  "  is  this  a  time 
for  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnashing  of  the 
teeth?  The  prodigal  has  returned.  We  got 
to  find  a  nice  fat  calf." 

"Well,"  laughed  Seffy,  not  relinquishing 
Sally,  "  what  is  the  first  thing?  I'm  ready 
for  work.  I'm  used  to  it!" 

"To-morrow,  Seffy,"  said  his  father 
briskly,  "you  better  let  Sally  marry  you. 
Remember  she  bought  you." 

He  gave  Sally  time  to  blush,  and  Seffy  time 
to  find  both  her  hands  and  her  lips,  and  then 
he  finished : 

143 


•'  And  make  it  early  —  mebby  the  first  sing 
in  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  we'll  take 
down  the  fence.  All  three  of  us.  It's  wait- 
ing for  us.  Sally  kep'  it  waiting.  Ain't  so, 
Sally?" 

Sally  affirmed  this. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


—  ; 


ORION 

JAN      ,1938 


Form  L9-50m-7,'54(5990)444 


LQg 


Long  - 


3523 
L8555s 


Sef fy,  a  little 
comedy  of 


country  man- 
ners 


Q  1955  I 


PS 
3523 

L8555s 


